


Wind & Anchor

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-10-07 19:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 131,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10367430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Though they both live in the city of Chicago, April Kepner and Jackson Avery’s lives could not be more different. Their schools’ names are similar; but April is top of her class as a senior in high school and Jackson is struggling as a sophomore in college. Because there’s a college student in great need of a writing tutor, April finds herself traveling across the city each day after the bell rings to muddle through poetry and prose with none other than Jackson himself. As the months pass and Jackson grows to be her closest friend, what started out as a tutor/student relationship slowly grows into something much more. But as she was raised in a strictly Catholic household, how will April deal with the onslaught of the most overwhelming feelings she’s ever experienced? She thought she could handle anything that life threw at her - until life threw her Jackson Avery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO IM BACK. I couldn't stay away for long... I never can. The summary says it all. Enjoy ;)

Standing in front of the mirror as the sun rises on the crisp September morning outside, I button up my white blouse and then put on my navy blue pullover sweater on top of it. I smooth down my uniform skirt, even though it’s already free of any creases thanks to my ironing job last night, and then lift my chin to look at my reflection.

“You aren’t just a good student, you’re a great student,” I say, blinking my eyes open wide. I’m not usually one for much makeup, but since it’s the first day of school I put on mascara and a little lip gloss.

I tuck my auburn hair behind my ears and shake my head a little so the curls bounce. Over the summer, I got my braces off and chopped my hair so it rests on my shoulders instead of halfway down my back. I was tired of my older sister, Libby, telling me that I looked Amish.

Plus, it was time for a change. And I’m glad I did it now, even though without the blanket of it sometimes I still feel a bit naked.

“A great student,” I repeat, and straighten my collar.

Today is my first day of senior year at DePaul College Prep High School, and I already know it’s going to be a great year. Libby finally moved out and is going to college in Ohio, so I don’t have to be constantly overshadowed by her presence; Kimmie is a sophomore this year and Alice is just entering high school. Finally, our oldest sister is gone and I won’t have someone bossing me around both at school and when we come home, too. I’m looking forward to being my own person.

I walk out of my room that I no longer have to share with her and adjust my knee socks once I get to the top of the stairs. Since I’m standing there, I walk a few steps further and knock on Alice’s door. “Wake up, Ali,” I say. “You’re not gonna make me late today.”

“Go away, Duckie,” she says, using the nickname that makes me cringe but is so ingrained in my family’s heads that I know I’ll never get rid of it. “I’m coming. Go away.”

“Be downstairs in five,” I say. “Or we’re leaving you again.”

Alice is the late one between the three of us remaining. If she takes forever, today it wouldn’t be the first time that Kimmie and I have left her behind. Especially on the first day, I’m not willing to be late.

Kimmie is already sitting at the table when I get downstairs, dressed and ready. “Hey, Duckie,” she says, a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. “Al coming?”

“Says she is,” I say, picking an apple from the bowl on the table.

Five minutes pass, and it’s getting close to the time we need to leave and catch the bus. Even though I’m turning 18 in the spring, I don’t have a car. We take public transportation to school because it’s just easier that way. We don’t have a lot of money. Libby never had a car either; if one of us gets something, it’s expected that all of us do. And cars aren’t cheap.

“Mom, can you get Alice?” I sigh, as our mother appears in the kitchen wearing a purple cardigan and black dress pants. “We’re gonna be late if she doesn’t hurry.”

She walks over and gives me and Kimmie each a kiss on the head. “You two look so pretty,” she says. “I need a picture.”

“Okay, but can you get Ali first?” I ask, feeling my stomach twist with anxiety as the clock ticks later and later. “I don’t want to be late.”

Exactly six minutes later, the whole family is outside on the front lawn, including Dad. He’s standing beside Mom, looking over her shoulder at her iPhone to see what the picture will look like. My sisters and I are standing on the sidewalk in front of our house on Grace Street, black shoes covered in droplets of dew from the frosty grass we walked through, arms wrapped around each other to pose for the first day of school photo that we never miss.

“Smile,” Mom says enthusiastically. “Say, 2017!”

We all repeat it back to her, and she animatedly presses her finger on the screen to take the photo. “Lovely,” she says. “One more. For safekeeping. April, your glasses are glaring, honey. Take them off for this one.”

I do as she asks and tuck them in my pocket. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, but I can see enough to know when I can put them back on again.

Once we’re done posing, I hoist my backpack up onto my back and corral my sisters in the direction of the bus stop. “Have a good day at school, girls,” Dad says, waving us off.

“Can’t wait to hear all about it when you get home!” Mom says, blowing us each a kiss.

\---

The three of us walk through the doors of the school together, and Kimmie gets pulled away by her friends before we can get very far. Alice and I watch her trot away, throwing a hasty wave over her shoulder at us.

“You have to pick her up after school,” I shout after Kimmie, pointing down at the sister beside me. “I’m tutoring now. I won’t be here.”

“Okay, okay!” she calls back, giving me a thumbs up.

Alice sighs and holds on tight to the straps of her backpack as I walk her upstairs to the freshman hallway. “You’re not gonna be here after school?” she asks.

“What’s your locker number?” I ask, and she hands her schedule to me. It’s 492. “And yeah. Ms. Montgomery asked me to tutor a college student over at DePaul.”

She stops in her tracks and looks at me with wide, green eyes. “Whoa. Really?”

“What?” I say, shaking my head slightly. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”

We stop at her locker and I stand in front of it, holding her schedule with both hands. As she stares at me, I push my glasses up on my nose and raise my eyebrows. “Yes, it is,” she says. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

“Of course they know.”

“You’re so smart, April,” she says. “That college kid must feel pretty dumb to be getting tutored by someone in high school.”

She somehow managed to compliment and insult me all the in same breath, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m used to it, growing up with them. “Well, he’s just gonna have to deal. I’m good at writing, and he’s not. So I’m gonna teach him. I’m not gonna get paid, which-”

“Wait,” she says, sticking her hand out with the palm facing me. “ _He_?”

I roll my eyes. She keeps talking.

“A boy?”

“Yes, what’s the big deal?” I snap, then glance down at her schedule. “Try your combination. It’s 36, 9, 12.” She spins the lock, turns the handle, and nothing happens.

“Mom and Dad seriously know you’re tutoring a college boy,” Alice says.

“Yes, okay?” I say. “I’m gonna be late. Just let me do it.” I spin the combination on her locker and it pops right open. “I have to go. I’m not gonna be here to do that for you every single time, so you have to learn.” I give her a quick hug. “Good luck on your first day. I’ll see you at home.”

“Have fun on your date!” she calls after me, way too loud. I don’t even turn around to acknowledge her.

I bluster into AP Biology one minute before the bell rings, sliding right into the desk next to one of my best friends, Lexie Grey. “Nice of you to finally make it,” she says out of the corner of her mouth as class begins.

I try and gather myself, pushing my hair out of my face and straightening my things on my desk.

“Is that lip gloss I see?” she asks, elbowing me. “And some mascara? You look amazing. What’s got you feeling saucy today, little priss?”

I snort. “Don’t call me that,” I say with a smile. She knows she could call me just about anything and get away with it - Lexie is always teasing me about something. Making up new nicknames for me every two seconds is one of her favorite pastimes. “It’s the first day. I wanted to… I don’t know.”

“Well whatever ‘I don’t know’ is, I approve,” she says. “Has anyone said anything about your haircut yet?”

I give her a look. “As if anyone cares about my haircut. Give me a break.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a syllabus from the stack that’s getting passed around. “Here, let’s pretend I wasn’t there the minute you chopped it.” She turns around, then turns back animatedly. “Oh my god, April? April _Kepner_ ? Is that you?” She reaches out and fluffs my bouncy hair. “I _love_ your hair, girl. It looks amazing. Oh my god, like, it totally brings out the 1800’s English schoolgirl in your uniform!” She covers her mouth with both hands and wiggles her shoulders. “You _have_ to tell me where you got it done. I’m totes going right after school!”

“I feel like somehow, you’re insulting me,” I say, trying to keep the smile off my face.

“People should notice,” she says, folding and refolding the corners of the syllabus. “You look hot.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

“You do!” Lexie insists.

“Uh-huh.”

“If I was into girls, I’d totally date you,” she says.

“And probably get expelled for it,” I say, eyes widening.

“It’d be worth it. Catholic ass school,” she mutters under her breath.

“Grey,” Mrs. Bailey’s voice cuts through the soft murmur of voices throughout the room. “Watch your language or get a demerit.”

“Sorry,” Lexie mutters, then makes a face when Mrs. Bailey turns her back. She mouths the word ‘bitch’ and then puts on a winner smile once the teacher turns back around. “Swear to God, she doesn’t hear me when I’m sitting here shouting the answer for ten years, but when I whisper the word…” She mouths it. “ _Ass_ , her hearing suddenly turns bionic.”

“Have you ever considered… not saying it?” I ask pointedly, smiling and making my eyes big.

“Out of the question,” she says, pretending to wave me off.

Lexie is about to start talking about something else, but then Mrs. Bailey stands at the front of the classroom and begins the lesson. My best friend shrugs at me and I face forward, both hands on my desk, sitting up straight with both feet flat on the floor, heels together. I’m going to make this year the best I can, academically, if it’s the last thing I do.

At lunch, I sit at the usual table with Lexie and our other best friend, Arizona. We all pull out lunches we brought from home, except for Lexie who got hers from her boyfriend, Mark. We have a closed campus, but he always finds a way to go and get her what she wants. Today, she has a sub from Subway. I have a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I made last night and let sit for too long.

Arizona chews on a carrot as she talks about her first period physics class, and then waves at someone over my shoulder. I turn around see Alice coming, her red hair coming out of its ponytail in flyaways around her face.

She sits down in a huff, her brown paper bag lunch crumpled in front of her. “Can I sit with you guys?” she asks me.

“Sure,” I say. “Why are you all…?” I gesture to her overall disheveled appearance.

“I didn’t know I had first lunch,” she says, opening her bag. “I didn’t read my schedule right, so I just went to my next class. I only realized once it was halfway through that I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I ran here. I wanted to have enough time to eat.” She pulls out a Lunchable, and I smile to myself at her choice of what to pack.

“Glad you made it, Al,” Lexie says, pulling a too-big piece of lettuce off her sub.

“Hey, how did you get Subway?” Alice asks, peeling the plastic off of her Lunchable.

“Mark,” Arizona cuts in, giving Lexie a playful side-eye.

Lexie sets her shoulders proudly and Alice slumps hers. I hold up my PB & J. “Some of us can’t be that lucky,” I say, and nudge my little sister’s shoulder.

Some time passes, and then Alice pipes up again. “Where am I supposed to meet Kimmie after school again?” she asks. “She won’t text me back.”

Alice has her phone out on the table, so I snatch it and look around to make sure no teacher saw. “They’ll take that away from you so fast,” I say, and shove it into her purse. “Just wait by the front doors. I’m sure she’ll show up.”

Arizona looks at me confusedly. “Al’s going home with Kimmie? Where are you gonna be, Apes?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Alice gets to it first. “She’s tutoring a college boy,” she says, her tone lilting.

I shoot her a nasty look. “Shut up,” I say.

“What? You are,” she continues.

I can feel both Arizona and Lexie’s interested eyes on me, dying to pry for more answers. “Since when?” Lexie asks.

“Montgomery asked me to,” I say. “It’ll look good on my record. It’s over at DePaul, and that’s where I want to go anyway, it just looks really good for me.”

“Maybe he’ll be cute…” Arizona says.

“I don’t care about that,” I insist.

“Maybe _he_ will, now that Brace-Face is Brace-Face no longer,” Lexie says.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to shut up,” I say. “It’s not a thing.” I run my tongue over my teeth out of habit, now that Lexie brought up my old braces. “You don’t need to make it a big deal.”

“And your mom and dad know he’s a college _boy_ ,” Arizona says.

“That’s what I said,” Alice cuts in.

“Yes, they know,” I say, and start to gather my things. “I’m going to the library. I need a book for Lit.”

As I get up, Lexie calls after me. “Come on, Tweety Bird. We’re just messing with you!” I don’t look back, I just push my hair behind my shoulders and keep walking, but she keeps talking. “I’m in that class, too, and we don’t need a book!”

I ignore her and go to the library anyway. I need some time to myself.

\---

When the last bell rings, I beat the crowd and head to the bus stop at Irving Park and California with my backpack high on my shoulders. It’s early September, so the air is still warm with the memories of summer but it’s Chicago, so there’s always a steady breeze. It feels nice, though, gently blowing my skirt as I wait for the bus to take me to Lincoln Park.

As I ride to the Irving Park Brown Line stop where I’ll transfer to a train, I cross my legs sitting in a sideways-facing seat and pull out a worksheet that’s due tomorrow for AP Calc. I chew on the end of my mechanical pencil and balance my calculator on one knee as I work on it, unbothered by the shifts and groans of the bus. I’m used to them. I can work through almost anything.

This bus ride wouldn’t be that long if it weren’t for traffic, but because of it, I end up finishing my homework just in time to get off. As I ride the train, I look out the window with my chin rested on my closed fist and watch the city’s afternoon pass by. I retie my shoes while I sit and wait, then run a brush through my hair as I go over the writing assignments of my student’s that Montgomery sent me last week to prepare.

They’re not horrible, but still decently hard to get through. He doesn’t seem to know how to get a point across clearly without diverting into ten different subjects. I can tell he’s smart, he just seems incapable of communicating his thoughts. And I can help with that.

I get off at Fullerton and take the short walk to DePaul’s campus, taking my time in looking around to imagine what I’ll be seeing as a freshman next year. I haven’t been officially accepted yet, but that time isn’t far off. Early admission is in November, and my application is already all prepared. It’s just the act of sending it in.

I stop outside Arts & Letters Hall and look at my reflection in the glass doors. I can’t help but feel out of place and a little bit intimidated as I stand here in my private school uniform, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all of these college students who are all so obviously older than me. I don’t belong here. At least not yet.

I pull my socks up to my knees and make sure they’re even, then step through the doors. No one bothers to move out of my way, they just bustle around on either side of me like I’m a boulder in the middle of a flowing river, so I do my best to work around them. I get inside the atrium and look around, pushing my glasses up on my nose as I do so. I don’t know what he looks like. I just know that we’re supposed to meet here, somewhere on the first floor. There are so many people everywhere that I’m not sure how I’m supposed to figure out which one is my student.

Just as I sigh and think about turning around to get out of here, I feel a presence sidle up beside me. “You must be April,” a voice says, and when I look to my left I see a tall, blue-eyed boy with a short-cropped curly black hair and a killer smile.

“Oh, um, yeah, hi,” I say, crossing my arms tight over my chest. “Yeah, that’s me. Are you Jackson? How’d you know it was me?”

He walks out of the way of people coming down the stairs and I follow. “You don’t see school uniforms around here very often,” he says. “Didn’t know you’d be in one, that’s kinda hot, but it’s fine. I’m Jackson Avery.”

He sticks his hand out for me to shake, and I stare at it for too long before gripping it. “I’m April Kepner,” I say with the attempt of a smile. “I have, um, some of your old work-”

I try and adjust the binder of papers in my arms, but as I do so it slips out of my grasp and falls to the floor where the clips come open so the papers scatter everywhere. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jackson says, then kneels down immediately.

“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” I say, kneeling down too, but carefully so my knees stay together. I tuck a bit of hair behind my ears and just end up getting down on the floor to try and gather everything.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s all my shit, anyway. And when I say shit, I mean shit. Probably didn’t take you very long to figure out that I can’t write.”

I chuckle softly as I stand back up. He hands me the topsy-turvy pile of papers and I shove them haphazardly back into the red binder. “No, it wasn’t-”

“You’re my tutor,” he reminds me. “Don’t lie to me.”

I take in a deep breath. “It’s not that it’s bad,” I say. “It just needs shaping and molding. Which is why I’m here.”

We move into a study room that’s much quieter than the main entryway, and Jackson sits across from me leaned back in a swivel chair. As we talk, he chews arrogantly on a piece of gum. I’m not sure how the act of chewing can look so arrogant, but he makes it that way.

“So what I’m trying to say is that I can see the bones of what you’re trying to do in your papers. You just get going on so many different tangents that your points get hard to locate after a few paragraphs. And by the end, well… by then, I think it’s a totally different paper than what you intended. Do you ever proofread?”

“Proofread?” he asks.

“Yeah, like go back over it with-”

“Yeah, I know what it means,” he says. “But no, I don’t proofread. Do you think my work would be this shitty if I did? I finish something, I turn it in. I somehow got out of writing classes my whole freshman year, but they piled them up on me this year. I don’t care about them. I’m good at math and science. Not this. It isn’t gonna help me later in life, so I don’t try. Simple as that.”

I feel a prickly sensation on the back of my neck that reminds me of the feeling I used to get when Libby told me I looked Amish. Defensiveness and annoyance mixed together in one, slowly spreading out through my body. He’s so arrogant, I can’t see straight. He doesn’t really want my help, I can see that now. It didn’t even take me that long to see that. And I’m not even getting paid for this. This is all out of the goodness of my heart.

Well, and because Montgomery wants me to. And my mom and dad do, too. They were really proud of me when I told them that I would be doing this every day after school. They told me that helping others who aren’t as gifted as I am in certain areas is God’s work. And I truly believe them.

So I don’t give up. It hasn’t even been an hour; I won’t give up.

“Writing is important in any walk of life,” I say. “You read and write every day.”

“Not dumb ass essays like that one,” he says, gesturing towards the analytical essay on Shakespeare’s _King Lear_ that sits between us.

“This essay is not dumb,” I say. “Actually, a lot of your points are really smart. Redundant, but still. You’re a smart person.”

He scoffs with a hint of a smile. “I know that,” he says.

I purse my lips and roll my eyes, mostly to myself. “You just need to learn how to organize what you’re saying. The next paper assignment you get, bring it and we’ll outline it. And from the outline, it’ll be a lot easier to write.”

“I mean, I have an assignment,” he says, eyebrows raised as he looks down the length of the table instead of at me. “Got it today. From my Brit Lit class.”

There’s a weird pause between us. “So…?” I say. “Can I see the rubric?”

He sighs and reaches down to dig in his backpack. When he sits up, out comes a crinkled sheet of paper that I have to smooth out against the side of the table to be able to see anything on it. I start to read out loud. “Choose one of the poets from the Romantic period and write a three to four page paper telling your classmates about the writings and what you think the poet was trying to do in his or her work. You will want to choose a common theme in poetry, a common type of poem written, or a common use of symbols or metaphors. It is expected you will discuss at least three poems in your paper.” I skim down the rest of the paper and then set it down. “When’s this due?”

“Next week,” he says.

“Plenty of time,” I say. “So, what needs to happen first is you need to pick the poems you want to write about. Are there any that… stick out to you, or anything?”

He sighs and rubs his temples. “I have no idea,” he says. “I don’t do poetry. I don’t get poetry.”

I sigh now. “There’s nothing to get. It’s not as hard as people make it seem. The Romantic Period poets are just a bunch of guys with fluffy collars thinking they’re more important than they actually are.” That gets a giggle out of him, and I feel something flutter in my chest because of it. I smile and clear my throat. “Do you have a book or something? For this class?”

He digs in his backpack again and deposits a thick book on the table, right smack in the middle of us. “Yep, that’s a book all right,” I say, then tug it over to myself. “Have you even opened this?”

He gives me a deadpan look.

“I thought as much,”  I say, then place it on my lap. “Wheel over here. We’ll find three poems and then that’ll be it for today.”

He rolls backwards in his chair over to sit next to me, and looks down at the book resting on my lap. As we flip through pages, I catch sight of my knobby knees uncovered by both my socks and my skirt. The socks don’t go up high enough and the skirt doesn’t reach low enough. They’re just knees, but suddenly I feel self-conscious of them. I press them together and glance over at him, only to have his eyes dart to me.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, and hide my stupid blush my looking at the book again. “How about this one by Lord Byron?”

I watch his eyes skim the words. “It’s kinda nice, I guess,” he says.

“Reading them out loud always helps me to see if I like them or not,” I say.

“So read it out loud.”

I scoff. “It’s your paper,” I say. “You read it out loud.”

He looks at the page for a long moment before opening his mouth. “She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and in her eyes, thus mellowed to that tender light, which heaven to gaudy day denies…” He rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair again. “This is dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” I say. “Keep going.”

He looks at me for a while, sizing me up I’m sure. Wondering how far I’ll push him. I can tell already that I’ve pushed him further than most.

“I sound stupid,” he says. “I don’t even know what this dude’s trying to say.”

I press my finger to the page, though I don’t look down at it. I keep looking at him. “It’s not always what they’re trying to say. It’s how they say it. What words they use. How they want the words to make you feel.” He frowns and deep creases on his forehead appear. I sigh and falter slightly. “Fine, I’ll read the middle stanza. But you’re reading the last one. Deal?” He nods, and I look down at the page. “One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace, which waves in every raven tress, or softly lights over her face. Where thoughts serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.” I lift my eyes and urge him on. “Okay. Your turn.”

He leans close again so he can see the print. “And on that cheek and over that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow. But tell of days in goodness spent, at mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent.” His shoulders slouch a little when he finishes. “I like it when you read better.”

“Well, me, too,” I agree, and he rolls his eyes as I laugh at my own joke. “I’m kidding, you sound fine.”

“Dude still sounds like he’s on some shit,” Jackson mutters.

“He might’ve been,” I say. “But I think that one might be easy for you to write about. Lord Byron is literally just writing about this girl he loves and finds attractive. I’m sure you have plenty of those.”

He eyes me. “Oh, really? And what makes you say that?”

I hadn’t expected him to call me out on that, so I’m caught a bit off-guard, though I try not to show it. “Oh, whatever,” I say. “Your eyes, your whole...demeanor thing you’ve got going on, don’t even try to pretend that you don’t have like, thirty girlfriends.”

“Thirty-one,” he says, pointing a finger in the air. “Can’t forget that one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Pick two more poems already.”

“Only if you’ll read out loud to me again,” he says.

“Maybe,” I say. “Just pick.”

He picks two more poems; one by Keats and one by Wordsworth, and then closes the book dramatically. “That’s all I got for today,” he says, then stands up from his chair and forces it behind him with the backs of his knees. It hits the wall and I flinch. He sloppily gathers his materials and shoves them into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder after everything is piled in. I get up to go, too, organizing everything as it should be inside my bag before I follow him out of the room.

Before I can solidify our meeting time for tomorrow, he raises his hand high in a wave to someone he knows. “Hey, Percy!” he shouts over the din of mingling students. “Hold up!” I watch his back as he walks away, and he doesn’t even turn around to say so much as goodbye to me.

I pinch my lips together and hold onto the straps of my backpack as I walk out of Arts & Letters Hall. I don’t come across many boys in my life, but I can confidently say that I’m glad about that. Boys are stupid. And complicated. And stupid.

\---

“So, tell me everything,” Lexie says, throwing the medicine ball at me full-force.

We’re in gym class, dressed in our other uniform. Mid thigh-length navy blue shorts and a gray t-shirt with a navy blue ring around the neck with our school’s crest emblazoned across the front. My hair is in a high ponytail on top of my head, just like most of the other girls in the room during our conditioning unit.

I catch the red ball with a great amount of difficulty, stumbling backwards with the weight. “Not much to tell,” I say, and try to throw it back. It makes it about halfway to her before plummeting to the ground with a pathetic thump. We both stare at it, but she breaks and retrieves it first.

Lexie grunts as she picks up the ball. “Bullshit,” she says.

“Grey!” A voice barks from right behind me, and I jump from the surprise. Mrs. Altman is standing below the basketball hoop, clearly within earshot. “Quit with the language, or get a demerit for the day.”

When Mrs. Altman walks away, Lexie rolls her eyes and then pretends to look afraid as she mouths the words, “Ooh, a demerit!” She shakes her head and steps closer to me to throw the ball a shorter distance.

“Back behind the line,” Mrs. Altman says, seemingly seeing with the eyes on the back of her head.

Lexie looks at her and squints. “April can’t throw it that far,” she says.

Mrs. Altman glances to me, then back to my best friend. “Sounds like her problem. Behind the line, and throw the ball.” She blows her brash whistle and I cringe. “Throw!”

Lexie’s eyes widen as she stares at the rubber gym floor, and she takes a step back like she was told. She throws the ball to me and I do my best to catch it with what looks like ease, but it’s hard. My arms are like limp noodles.

It appeases Mrs. Altman, though, and she walks away to give another pair a hard time.

“I know there’s stuff to tell,” Lexie says, stepping forward after looking both ways to catch the ball as far as I can throw it. She steps back once she has it in her arms. “You don’t go hang out with a college boy for an hour and not have stuff to tell.”

“We didn’t hang out,” I say, then shake my arms out. “I tutored him. How many more? I’m going to fall over.”

“Four,” she says. “And spill. Or I’m gonna chuck this at you.”

“I told you!” I say, “There’s nothing to spill.”

She follows through on her promise and chucks the ten-pound ball at me as hard as she can. It hits me in the stomach and I fall backwards with the blow to fall right on my butt, and we dissolve into a fit of laughter.

“Kepner, get up off the floor,” Mrs. Altman calls, glaring at us from across the gym.

Using the ball to push off of from, I stand up again and brush the dust off my shorts. “You suck,” I say, and swing the ball up from between my legs. “He showed me a rubric from his British Literature class. He has to write an essay on Romantic Period poets.”

“Ooh, romance,” Lexie says, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Stop,” I say. “So we picked poems. He was pretty okay at reading them out loud.”

“Oh, my god,” she says. “You read poetry out loud. I’m dying.”

I narrow my eyes and brace myself for the ball. “It was for an assignment,” I say. “And anyway, he was totally rude. He thinks way too highly of himself, and it was really not becoming at all. Whatsoever.”

“So...what did he look like?” she asks. We’ve found some sort of rhythm with the ball, going over our allotted ten tosses now.

“Bluey-green eyes, they’re kind of both at once. Nice teeth. Pretty tall. Short, curly hair. Freckles, too.”

“You were close enough to see freckles?!”

“Lex, please,” I say, and set the ball down so I can brace my hands on my knees. “Can we please move on?”

“No, we can’t move on,” she says, sauntering up to me. “We can ditch the medicine ball, but you’re gonna tell me every single detail while we jump rope, Double Dutch.”

\---

In the middle of lunch a couple hours later, I feel something bump into my back. I turn around to see what it was and find Alex Karev standing there, backpack lazily hanging off one shoulder, as he talks to his group of friends. I scowl at the bag that hit me and then try to shrink myself to get out of his way, but it doesn’t do any good. It repeatedly hits me.

I don’t plan on saying anything, but Lexie notices and cuts herself off midsentence. She swivels her shoulders and sees who’s standing there, then pokes him in the arm. “Alex, watch where you’re swinging your shit,” she says.

He looks down with a leftover grin from the conversation on his face. He and Lexie aren’t friendly with each other – actually, exactly the opposite - but he’s best friends with her half-sister, Meredith.

“What?” he spits, squinting his eyes.

“You’re hitting April with your backpack,” she says, and I want to crawl into a hole. I do my best to never catch Alex’s attention. Last year when I had big, frizzy hair and braces, I could never catch a break from him. I don’t expect that now will be much different. He’ll never change from being the same cruel person.

“And?” he says, adjusting it. He glances down at me as I try and make myself smaller and then does a double take. “Oh, look who found a mirror. Nice hair, Kepner.”

I smooth my hand down over it and feel my cheeks flame up. “Thanks,” I murmur.

“No, not _thanks_ ,” Lexie says aggressively, standing up.

“Sit down, Lexie,” Alex says, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t talk to April like that,” she says. “I’m really sick of it. And she is, too.”

He looks at me. I wish he would stop. “What? She smiled.”

“Yeah, because you embarrassed her!”

“I gave her a damn compliment,” he says, squaring his shoulders.

“She’s always been pretty,” Lexie insists.

“Lex, just stop,” I plead, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and pulling. “Just leave it. It’s fine.”

“See? She said it’s fine,” Alex says.

“It’s not fine,” she argues.

I feel Alex’s eyes on me, but I can’t look up from my sack lunch. “It was a compliment, Kepner, right? Got the braces off, cut the bushy-ass hair, just gotta get those glasses off you next. Then you’ll be hot. Well, kind of. Closer, at least.”

I gently push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and feel my cheeks somehow get hotter.

“Shut the fuck up, Alex,” Lexie growls, and then we hear a different voice cut into the mix.

“Grey, to the office _now_.”

I flip around to see the geography teacher, Mr. Burke, standing close to us looking furious. “You know the policy on language, Grey. If you need a refresher, I have plenty of copies of the handbook that you’ll have time to look over in detention.”

Lexie turns around slowly and I can see the cogs working in her mind. She glances back at Alex and then down at me, then opens her mouth. “Mr. Burke, Alex was just-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says sternly. “Office. Now. I’m right behind you.”

I look up at her with wide eyes. “Lex…” I say apologetically.

“Wasn’t you,” she says, and I know she means it. “Talk later.”

I give a curt nod and then wave as she stalks off towards the office. Once she and Mr. Burke leave, Alex stays hanging with circle of friends around him, Callie, Izzie and Denny. And even though lunchtime isn’t over yet, I gather my stuff in preparation to leave. I don’t want to be here anymore.

“Where’re you going?” Arizona asks as I stand up.

Alice looks at me desperately. “Duckie, don’t g-”

“Don’t call me that here,” I say between gritted teeth. “Don’t. You’re fine without me. I have homework to do.”

Without waiting for either of their responses, I make my way to the bathroom on the first floor near the staircase. Once I peek under the stall doors to make sure I’m alone, I shut myself in the one farthest from the entrance and pull my knees up to my chest while somehow balancing on the toilet seat.

With my books on the floor, I wrap my arms around my legs and cry while rocking back and forth slightly. I hate the way that Alex makes me feel - and it’s not just him. If I hadn’t gotten out of there when I did, his friends would’ve jumped on me, too. I usually know what it takes to avoid getting targeted, and it involves not speaking up. And today Lexie spoke up, which will only make things worse for me in the long run. She doesn’t have to worry about them. She’s Meredith’s half-sister; they can’t touch her. Even though she’s the person closest to me, they won’t touch her. But me, on the other hand, I’m free game to them and I always have been.

As the clock ticks closer to fourth period, I wipe underneath my eyes and gather my things back up. When I walk out of the bathroom, I hurry to the senior hallway and hope that I don’t catch the attention of anyone who might be leaving lunch early. While keeping my eyes cast down on the gray carpet, I fast-walk to my chemistry classroom and then sit down in my usual seat near the front, next to my lab partner, George O’Malley, who’s already there.

“Hey, April,” he says, seeming twitchy.

“Hi,” I say, and take my glasses off so I can wash them. Once they’re clear, I put them back on and sniffle a little bit.

He pauses for a minute before asking, “Are you okay?”

I frown and wipe beneath my eyes. I’m suddenly glad that I didn’t choose to put mascara on today like I did yesterday. It would’ve been running like crazy.“Yeah, of course,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“I was just wondering, you know, because you almost ran into me coming out of the girls’ bathroom a few minutes ago,” he says, chuckling awkwardly. “It looked like you were pretty upset.”

“I wasn’t upset,” I say quickly. “I’m fine. I didn’t see you, though… coming out of the bathroom. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to run you over.”

“You didn’t. Just almost,” he clarifies. “You looked flustered is all.”

“I promise I’m not,” I say, forcing a smile and tucking a piece of my hair behind my ears.

“Did you cut your hair?” he asks. I nod and turn to the worksheet that’s being passed out. “It looks nice. Really nice. I like the shorter. Short hair. Most people, you know, think long hair is usually prettier, but I mean, I can see that’s not always the case. It’s not very typical. What I think I’m trying to say is, you’re typical. I mean… no, wait. Not typical. You’re not typical. Not like you’re weird or anything, that’s definitely not… not what I mean. At all. Oh, my god,” he says. “I’m gonna shut up now.”

I click my mechanical pencil’s lead out. “Thanks,” I say. “About the hair. Not about the shutting up.” In all honesty, I zoned out and didn’t hear much after his initial compliment about my hair. George has always been nice to me, but he talks too much. Especially to me, for some reason.

We get through half a project before it’s time to leave and we have to put the rest of it off until tomorrow. “See you later, April,” George says as I tuck my books under one arm. “Hope the rest of your day is good.”

“You, too,” I say distractedly, and walk to my next class. Only two more until I’m done for the day and can get out of here. Most days I really enjoy school, but today is not one of those days.

When I’m standing at my locker putting things in my backpack to bring to DePaul, Arizona saunters up beside me. “I saw you in chemistry earlier,” she says, leaning on the locker beside mine.

“Really,” I say, uninterested, as I balance my bag on my knee so I can zip it up.

“Uh-huh. I left Calc to pee. I was kinda roaming the halls and wasting time and stuff. And I peeked in your classroom and saw you sitting next to your favorite lab partner ever, George O’Malley.”

I heave my backpack up on my shoulders. “And? Get to the point, AZ. I have to leave soon or else I’m gonna be late.”

“April, you’re so blind and I hate you. You’re so _totally_ blind. George is like, in love with you.”

I scoff. “Stop.”

“I’m not even kidding. The way he leans into you, his eyes were like, _lit up_ when he was talking to you. He totally wants to bang you, Apes.”

“Arizona,” I say sternly, eyes widening. “Don’t. Don’t talk like that, I’m serious.”

She giggles. “What?”

“Don’t… say stuff like that. It’s not funny. You know how I feel about that. And how _you’re_ supposed to feel like about that, too.”

“April…” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s a saying. I’m not saying go and jump into bed, or-”

“I’m done talking about this,” I say, walking down the hallway with purpose. She follows me, though. “I have to go tutor.”

“April, come on…” she says. “Lighten up.”

“I don’t feel that way towards George, okay?” I say. “And you saying it is only going to make me awkward. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to think about boys like that - any boy. I have enough on my plate as it is.”

As I turn down the sidewalk to go one way and Arizona turns to go the other, she takes me by the shoulders. “You really need to loosen up,” she says. “I’m just saying. Breathe once in awhile. It’ll do you some good.”

I shake my shoulders to get her hands off and then roll my eyes lightly. “See you tomorrow morning for the prayer circle. By the flagpoles.”

“I’ll be there, bright and early,” she says. “Have fun with your college boy.”

I ignore her loaded last comment and turn on my heel, away from her.  

With Jackson today, I’m removed and distant. When we get close to the end of the session, he leans forward to lean on his elbows and narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not peppy,” he says. “What’s up with that?”

I raise my eyebrows slightly. “Excuse me?”

“The bounce. The weird sparkle and zest for learning, it’s not there,” he says, gesturing with his hand in my general vicinity. “Something’s off.”

I scoff. “No,” I say. “This is our second meeting. I don’t know why you think you know my life story or the way I am or anything like that.”

“Well, I do have eyes and a brain,” he says. “No matter how much my writing makes you think otherwise.”

“I already told you, I don’t think that you’re writing is that-”

“Don’t divert,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m a good listener.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I insist, then make a point to look up at the clock high on the wall. “I have to get going. My mom and dad’ll be wondering where I am.”

He narrows his eyes. “I have eight minutes left with you,” he says. “And you’re not going anywhere.”

My hands freeze on the book that I had been closing. “I have to leave,” I insist. “I just have to go.”

“You’re avoiding talking about whatever it is,” he says. “And you think you’re damn good at hiding it, but I gotta tell you, you’re not.” He smiles and shakes his head. “Look, I’m not gonna force it out of you. That’s creepy. I just want you to know that if you need someone to talk to-”

“Please stop,” I say. “I don’t. I’m fine. I just need to go home now.” I pick up the last of my things and let out a long sigh with my hand braced on the doorknob. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

\---

When I get home, I hear the sound of my family getting ready for dinner as I’m placing my shoes on the mat by the door. “Hi, Duckie, is that you?” Mom calls out.

“Yes,” I say, hanging up my backpack on a hook. I come around the corner and see that dinner is already on the table and everyone is just sitting down. I join them at my place between my sisters and then take each of their hands as my dad prays.

“Dear God, thank you for blessing us with this meal. Please help it nourish our bodies and our minds so we can continue to live our lives in Your grace. Thank you for helping April, Kimmie and Alice start their school years off the right way, and please continue to bless them with the strength to be the upstanding figures who walk in Your light. We are so grateful for all You’ve done for us, God. In Your name we pray, amen.”

I break my hands away and then reopen my eyes, picking up my silverware to start eating. I stay quiet for most of dinner, getting lost in the conversation topics that my sisters bring up, until my mom speaks directly to me.

“April,” she says. “You’ve barely said a word, honey. How was your day at school? How is tutoring going?”

I get a flashback from earlier today where I see Alex’s smug face looking down into mine, making fun of me in front of both his friends and mine. I get a flashback to Lexie sticking her neck out for me and getting detention because of it. I see George talking too much and Arizona talking too much and Jackson talking too much and now my family talking too much. I just want today to end already.

“It’s good,” I say, then set down my spoon. I’ve only finished about half my plate, but I want to be done here. “May I be excused?”

Dad looks at my plate and then at me with concern written all over his face. “You didn’t eat much,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “I had a big lunch.”

I feel Alice’s eyes on me. She knows what happens at lunch. I will her not to open her mouth, and luckily she stays silent.

“Sure, then go ahead,” Dad says, and I walk around the table after putting my dishes away to give him a hug around the neck.

“I’m going to my room to do some homework and go to bed,” I say. “Night.”

They all wish me goodnight and tell me they love me, and I head upstairs to my room. I take off my uniform and throw it in the dirty clothes basket after changing into my nightgown, and then sit down on the edge of my bed. I don’t have any homework to do like I had told my family just moments ago, and I’m thankful for that. I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate. I can’t stop thinking about the uncomfortableness of today. No matter how hard I try to force it out of my mind, it won’t go.

I switch my light off and then crawl under my covers. I take my glasses off, fold the bows in, and put them on my bedside table and set my alarm for early tomorrow morning. It’s early; only about 7:45pm, but I cry myself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The following weekend, I’m over at Lexie’s house around lunchtime, hanging out in the living room. It’s not a quiet house - there’s always someone over who doesn’t live here, and a lot of the time even more than one. Today, alongside me, there’s Mark Sloan and Derek Shepherd; both the Grey sisters’ boyfriends, respectively.

I’m comfortable with Mark. We tend to spend a good amount of time together because of our common denominator, so I’m not too awkward around him anymore. Most of the time I even like being around him. But Derek, on the other hand, is a different story.

Meredith and Derek are in the kitchen; I can hear the low hum of their conversation under the rise and fall of ours. I’m lying on the carpet on my stomach with a book open while Lexie and Mark sit near me with their backs pressed up against the couch. They’re working on college applications and I’m enjoying just to listen to them.

“I don’t understand the common app,” Lexie says, and I hear the furious clicking of a mouse as she gets upset at her computer. “Maybe I would if our stupid guidance counselors did anything to help.”

“All they wanna do is breed nuns, Lex,” Mark says, and I see him take the laptop from her. “They don’t want you to get a real education.”

I scoff. “We’re getting a real education,” I say. “I don’t know if you have room to talk, Mark.”

He smiles and leans closer to me. “And what do you mean by that?”

I keep my eyes on the pages of my book. “Some of us actually try. Me and Lexie are in all AP classes. To get what you want out of it, you have to put the same amount of effort in.”

He rolls his eyes and turns to look at his girlfriend. “When did your best friend become a motivational poster from Webber’s office?”

Lexie laughs lightly and pushes on my hip with her foot. “She was born that way,” she says. “And anyway, she’s kinda right.”

“Don’t gang up on me now,” he grumbles. “Listen. During my _first_ senior year, I did try. And you see where it got me.”

Me and Lexie both giggle, and I let my head fall so my forehead rests on the crease between the pages of my book. “You needed April last year,” Lexie says. “She could’ve tutored you.”

“What does Kepner know about tutoring?” Mark asks. “I’m so confused at this damn common app, by the way.” He hands the laptop back to Lexie. “Take this. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I have a plan. Only apply to schools where the common app isn’t necessary.”

“Such a genius,” Lexie says. “And April knows a lot about tutoring. She’s tutoring a guy at DePaul right now.”

“What grade?” Mark asks.

I peel my eyes from the page and turn on my side, resting my head on my open palm. “No, not our DePaul. Like the actual university.”

He raises his eyebrows and looks interested. “So what you’re doing is rubbing your intelligence in my face and saying you can’t possibly spend any more time around me because my dumbness might infect you.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“So what do you teach this guy?” Mark asks. “Is he nice to you?”

I smile softly. “Yeah, he’s nice.” Usually Mark and I always joke around with each other, but I think he sees himself as sort of a big brother figure to me. He’d never come right out and say it, but he feels protective over me in a way that’s different than how he feels toward Lexie.

“Look at the way she just said nice,” Mark says, wagging his finger in the air. “You totally got the hots for this guy.”

I sit up and pull my book onto my lap. “I do not.”

“Your eyes got all dreamy like they usually do around Der-”

“I mean it,” I say, eyes widening and lips pinched. “ _Stop_. He’s right over there.”

“No offense, Kepner, but you make it pretty obvious. He already knows.”

I cross my arms and sigh. I’ve had the biggest crush on Derek for forever that I’ve been trying to squash for years, but it hasn’t gone away. I thought that when he and Meredith’s class graduated and I didn’t see him every day passing through the hallway, looking generally dreamy, that my feelings towards him would fade. But they haven’t. Every time I see him over here at Lexie’s house, hanging out with his girlfriend, I turn into a bumbling idiot.

“Whatever,” I say, then drum my fingers on my knees.

“Soon you’re gonna forget that Derek ever existed,” Mark says, rubbing his hands together. “You’re gonna be with this older guy, he’s gonna sweep you off your feet. He better treat you right, that’s all I’m saying. But Derek is just gonna be this… this speck on your windshield of life. And Virgin Mary Kepner will be a Virgin Mary no more.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Mark, enough,” I say, my voice muffled. “I don’t even feel that way towards Jackson.”

“Jackson. What a name.”

“She hadn’t even told _me_ his name,” Lexie chimes in. “That is quite a name. Strong. Handsome.”

“A name cannot sound handsome.”

“Oh, you know it can,” Lexie says. “And his does. I know you think he’s cute, too, April. Quit playing so coy. You told me he was cute!”

“I said no such thing,” I insist. “I only described what he looked like.”

“Yeah, with stars in your eyes, I bet,” Mark says warmly.

“And being a virgin is not a bad thing,” I say, though now I can’t get these thoughts that really shouldn’t be in my head out of there. I’m chaste. I’m abstinent. I’ve never so much as held hands with a boy, no less kissed one. No less _had sex_ with one. We’re not supposed to, not until marriage. That’s what my parents, school, church, and God have been teaching me for my entire life.

Lexie has already strayed. It’s been more than a year since she did it, but her parents are different than mine. She goes to the same Catholic school, but her parents don’t send her there to breed her into a nun, as Mark so quaintly put. They send her there because it’s a good school in the city, and it’s small compared to everywhere else. Mine don’t send me there for that reason; they send me there because the religious climate there is very similar to ours at home. Before class every morning we have liturgy, and prayer is worked into the day, alongside Catholic Christian lessons. It’s very important to my parents that those aspects are a part of my daily life, and they’ve become important to me, too.

“No, of course it’s not a bad thing,” Lexie says.

“Thank you,” I reply, then stare down Mark. “I don’t think of Jackson like that.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t believe me,” I say.

“You’re right.”

I let out a loud groan. “If you don’t-”

Cutting off my sentence, the doorbell rings which means our pizza is here. “Oh, let me go get that,” I say, then lay a flat palm out in Mark’s direction, wagging my fingers. He deposits a $20 bill in my hand, and I trot off towards the door, glad to be away from that conversation as it had started down a path I am not comfortable with.

I have to pass through the kitchen to get to the front door, though, and as I do, Derek raises his hand to me in a small wave. “Hey, April,” he says, and Meredith turns to look over her shoulder at me, but doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, hey, Derek,” I say, pushing my glasses up on my nose. “I was just - you know, the pizza rang the doorbell. I mean, the pizza didn’t. The guy, he’s here, he’s got our pizza. Mine and Lexie’s. And Mark’s. And if you want any, too, I’m sure there’s enough.” I pause for a second. “You, too, Meredith.”

“Thanks, we’re fine,” she says, smiling slyly at me before turning her head back.

“Thanks,” Derek says, his eyes shiny as usual. “I might take you up on that.”

I nod and let out a little gust of air. “I’m gonna go now,” I say. “Answer the door.”

I mentally punch myself for continuing to be so tongue-tied around him as I walk to the door. I’ve known for years that I don’t have a chance with him. I don’t even want a chance with him, yet I always act like a fool in his presence. He makes the wires in my brain disconnect, and I think there’s even a part of him that likes doing it. When he smiles at me, it makes me feel insurmountably small; like a speck of dust on the floor in comparison to him. It’s a feeling that I don’t necessarily like, but he still drives me crazy.

I bring the pizza back to the living room and set it on the coffee table. “Heard you spewing word vomit to your boyfriend,” Mark says, taking the biggest piece.

“Please shut up,” I say, and then lace my fingers together so I can rest my forehead against them. I say a short, silent prayer, and then take the next biggest piece.

“You know how she gets,” Lexie says, nudging his shoulder. “Leave her alone.”

\---

Jackson and I sit outside in DePaul’s quad on Monday afternoon. The air is warm but not humid, and we’ve found a shady spot under a tree to sit and do our lesson. I’m leaning against the trunk with my legs out straight, knocking my feet together as he types away on his MacBook Air.

He’s relatively quiet at the moment, deep into his writing. I’m glad for that; it gives me time to look around and think. I’d been staring up at the sky, then watching a couple people play Frisbee, but now my eyes wander to Jackson’s face. In the shadowy light, the blue of his eyes stands out dramatically from his skin, along with his impeccably white teeth. As he writes, he draws a tiny bit of his lower lip into his mouth and chews on it, staring intently at the screen where he’s typing. I watch his hands, noticing the map of veins over the tops of them and following them as their paths disappear onto the undersides of his arms. He’s got short sleeves on today, so his muscles are on full display.

I don’t let myself look for too long.

I don’t want to prove Mark right. I don’t think of Jackson that way. He’s my student and we have a good working relationship. He’s easy to talk to and he makes me feel seen. He listens to me. Those are good qualities in a friend, nothing more.

I practically have to hold back a laugh as I think of the fact that I’d never, not in a million years, have a chance with him anyway. Not like I want one. But even if I did, that’s the most unrealistic thing I’ve ever heard.

I hear the clicking sounds of the keyboard stop and a quiet moment passes over the both of us.

“What’s your favorite band?” he asks, breaking it.

I blink my eyes to bring myself back down to earth. “What?”

“What’s your favorite band?” he repeats, drumming his fingers over the keys to make a softer clicking sound.

“Oh, um…” I knock my shoes together some more. “Relient K, Flyleaf, Anberlin… I like them.”

“Wait, what?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

I cross one ankle over the other and rest my head back against the tree. “I don’t even listen to them that much. Secular music is kind of frown-”

“Secular?” he repeats, seemingly becoming more and more confused by the moment. “What do you mean by secular?”

I squint at him and then let out a long sigh. At my own school, this isn’t something that I have to explain because a lot of people are in my same boat. Here at DePaul, though it’s a Catholic university, not everyone is devoutly religious. And it’s already become very clear to me that Jackson definitely isn’t.

“Wait,” he says, before I can explain. “Jesus music?”

I nod and pull the tiny cross that I wear on a silver chain out from under the collar of my shirt. The only jewelry that’s allowed at school are a single pair of earrings, so I have to hide this. But my parents gave it to me on my Christening and I’ve worn it ever since, so my wearing of it is approved by them.

“Yes,” I say, flashing the necklace. It’s very small, so he sets his laptop to the side and leans in close to me so he can see it.

“So you really take your Christian stuff that seriously, huh?” he asks.

I feel my chest get hot. Luckily, my skin is completely covered so he has no way of seeing my blush start; I’m just hoping it doesn’t make its way to my cheeks. “Of course I do,” I say. “I always put God first.”

“Interesting,” he says. “Okay, so… you can’t listen to any secular music? Is that what you called it?”

“Yeah,” I say, tracing the cross now. “My parents think that it’s a bad influence. I remember when I was like, seven or eight, and I _really_ wanted to listen to Hannah Montana. I begged my mom to buy me her CD, you know the one with her face on the cover?” He chuckles. “Well, maybe you don’t know,” I say. “But that’s the one I really wanted. Her very first CD. And I couldn’t have it.” I shrug. “Ever since then, I’ve kind of just learned to live with it. I like my Christian music. I know what you’re probably thinking, and they’re really not that bad.”

“But are they good?”

“What?”

“You said they’re not bad, but are they good?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“As good as Hannah Montana?”

I crack up laughing. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never heard her before.” Jackson nods thoughtfully, then directs his attention back to his computer. “Why did you ask?” I say.

He shrugs. “I like to put together playlists for people. I was just looking through my music.”

I push myself away from the tree and sit up on my knees near him. “You’re supposed to be writing,” I say. “That due date is coming up.”

He sighs. “I know, I know.”

“So write,” I say. “It looks bad on me if the first assignment I helped you on is turned in late. They might fire me.”

“Maybe I should turn it in late then,” he says, unable to keep the smile from his face.

“Shut up.”

“Are you even allowed to say shut up?” he asks, his face turning mischievous.

“Of course I am,” I say, looking down at his computer screen. He has his iTunes library up and the scroll bar is tiny because of how much music he has.

“Do you ever swear?” he asks, and I shake my head no. “Have you ever wanted to?” I shake my head again. “Not even when you get really pissed?”

“No,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“So you just pray about it,” he says.

I set my weight down on my heels. “Actually, I do,” I say. “And it really helps. More than swearing about it and expecting something to come from that.”

“Okay, well…” he says. “You do you.”

“I will,” I say. “Continue to do me. And you need to write your paper.”

“How about you write it for me?”

I bust up laughing. “Oh, you’d love that,” I say. “But no way.” He looks at me for a moment and then back to his screen, his face bordering on hopeless. “I’ll help, of course,” I remind him. “That’s what I’m here for. How much do you have so far?”

He opens Microsoft Word and I see that he has about two pages done, which isn’t bad. “I wrote about that one poem we read out loud,” he says. “The She Walks In Beauty one.”

“That’s good,” I say. “So you just need to write about two more. Right?”

He nods. “Do you think…” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out a gust of air from his nose. “Do you think we could read the next one out loud like we did before? It helped me, I think. To hear it and stuff. Made it less confusing.”

I feel that same fluttery feeling in my chest as I reach for the thick book of poems. “Of course,” I say, then flip one of the three pages that he has folded over. “Wanna start with the one by Rossetti? Called Remember.” He nods. “We can trade off like last time. Okay?” I clear my throat and then start with the first stanza. “ _Remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land; when you can no more hold me by the hand, nor I half turn to go yet turning stay_.”

He looks at me for validation, and I nod him on. His eyes dart away from my face and down to the book, and he begins. “ _Remember me when no more day by day you tell me of our future that you planned; only remember me; you understand, it will be late to counsel then or pray_.”

I smooth my hand over the left side of the page as I finish up the poem, over and over again as I read. _“Yet if you should forget me for a while and afterwards remember, do not grieve; for if the darkness and corruption leave a vestige of the thoughts I once had, better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad.”_

When I stop reading, he stays looking down at the page while running his finger and thumb over the slight stubble on his chin. “I guess it’s not that hard,” he says. “She’s all, basically saying that if we ever have to leave each other, remember all our good times and be happy because of that. Don’t be sad because I’m gone. Like that?”

I nod. “Exactly.”

He makes a small affirmative sound and looks back at the book. “Like that stupid-ass quote. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

I giggle and brush my curls out of my face. “Yeah, sure,” I say. “Whatever you just said.”

He finishes the part of his paper that deals with the Rossetti poem and starts on the third section, but then our time together comes to a close. I glance at the little silver watch that I wear on my left wrist and gasp a little. “Oh, I have to go,” I say, gathering my things into my backpack and standing up.

“Can't be late for dinner,” Jackson says, eyeing me from the ground.

I smile and roll my eyes as I hoist my backpack onto my shoulders. “Are you going to be okay finishing that on your own?” I ask.

He glances at the screen before looking back to me. “Yeah,” he says. “I got this. You go.”

“Okay,” I say, stepping in the direction I need to go to walk to the train. “You sure?”

“April, go,” he insists, waving me away. “I have your number. I'll call if I set my computer on fire or something.”

“You might wanna call someone more qualified than me if that happens,” I say, giggling. “Okay, bye. See you tomorrow.”

\---

The next day, as we get out of our last class, Lexie and I walk side-by-side to our lockers. “You headed to Lincoln Park?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah. It's too bad it's so nasty out, because yesterday we got to sit outside and it was really nice.”

She gives me a sideways grin. “I bet.”

I return the smile. “Stop,” I say, but there's not much force behind it. “I told him yesterday - I don't even know how it came up, but it did - that I don't really listen to secular music. It was random.”

“Aw, you guys are getting to know each other,” Lexie says. “Did he think it was weird, or…?”

I shrug. “I think he was more surprised than anything.”

“Well, don't let him make you feel bad about it,” she says, her voice getting a certain edge to it.

“I won't,” I say. “He didn't. He wouldn't. He really likes music, so he was kinda blown away.”

“I see.”

I shrug again. “I just forget that other people find it weird that-” I cut myself off because I see my middle sister standing by my locker, looking at her nails. “Ugh. I gotta find out what's going on. I'll see you later, Lex.”

I walk up to her and she starts talking before I can even say hello. “I can't ride the bus with Ali today,” she says, whining. “Lucy wants to hang out. And I said I would.”

I pull a book down from the top shelf of my locker. “So what are you asking me?” I say.

“Can you take her?” she asks. “Or can't she just go alone? She's 14. She's fine.”

I shake my head. “It's the second week of school, she's not comfortable on the high school bus without you yet,” I say. “And no, I can't take her. I have tutoring, just like every day.”

“Isn’t your boy fine without you for one single day?” Kimmie asks.

“It doesn't work like that,” I say. “Ms. Montgomery is giving me community service to tutor Jackson five days a week, from four to five. I can't skip out. I won't. And he's not my boy, so don't call him that.”

She lets her shoulders slump inwards, and throws her head back. “Please. Come on, just do this one thing for me, Duckie.”

I open my mouth to say no again, but I feel the presence of people appear behind me. I turn around and see that Alex, Callie, Izzie and Denny have stopped their trek down the hallway to stand uncomfortably close to me. My chest immediately gets tight and my breath comes quicker, even though barely a second has passed since I noticed them.

“Did she just say ‘Fuckie?’” Alex asks, his voice close to my ear. “Is that seriously what I just heard?”

“No,” I murmur.

Kimmie cuts in. “I said ‘Duckie,’” she clarifies.

“Aw, _Duckie_ ,” Alex sneers at me, his eyes squinted. “Cute nickname, Kepner.”

I turn my face away from him, looking into my locker even though I've already got everything I need. I stare at the back of it where my fleece is hanging and memorize the way that the track of the zipper looks.

“What, you don't like when I say it?” he pushes.

My eyes flit to my sister, who's watching the group confusedly, her gum suspended in her mouth as she chews it slowly. I don't know what to say. There’s nothing I can do.

“Oh, baby Duckie,” Alex continues. “Little Fuckie Duckie who's the farthest thing from fuckable that ever walked this fucking earth.”

I stare at my shoes now. My cheeks are unbearably hot and my hands are shaking. I can't look up. I count the buckles on my black shoes over and over until the numbers mean nothing.

I hear a different voice then. Callie’s. “Karev, I think she likes it when you talk dirty to her,” she says, chuckling. “Do you want him to fuck you, Fuckie?”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste blood right away. I swing my backpack over one shoulder and bluster through the group as fast as I can, trying to block out anything more that they might say.

“She does want you to fuck her, Alex!” Izzie screeches; I can hear her voice carry down the hallway.

I break into a run and burst through the front doors of the school. As I walk in the direction of the bus stop, Kimmie calls out from far behind me. “So are you making me get Alice?”

“Leave me alone,” I call back, without turning around. “Figure it out yourself.”

As I sit on the bus, I wrap my arms tight around my backpack as it sits on my lap and rest my head on top of it. I don't want people to see my face as I'm crying, because there's no way I can even bother with holding back my tears. The ride seems shorter than usual, and my crying doesn’t stop on the train, either. I'm still trying to compose myself and look halfway normal when I get off at Fullerton and head to Arts & Letters Hall.

I walk slowly inside the building, away from the low-hanging gray clouds outside, and see Jackson sitting on a squishy, brown leather couch. His eyes light up with recognition when he sees me, and he waves enthusiastically. I do my best to return the gesture.

“Hey,” he says warmly as I sit down. “Stupid rain, right? I liked sitting outside yesterday.”

I nod silently.

“Hey, you good?” he asks, dipping his head so he can look me in the face as I try and keep my head ducked.

“Yeah,” I peep.

“April, come on,” he says. “You must think I'm dumb as hell. I know I can't write worth shit, but give me a break. I can see you're crying... And this isn't the first time you've come here feeling like shit, I know that.” I can still feel his eyes on me, prying for answers. “You can tell me. You help me out so much with school. At least let me listen to you. You don't even get paid, so you should at least let me do _some_ thing.”

I finally lift my head up and sniffle, surveying the area. The room is relatively free of people, and the ones who are in here have headphones in or are involved their own conversations. “I’m not gonna bother you with it,” I say.

“What's bothering me is you keeping this to yourself,” he says. “Let me… I don't know, do what I can.”

I shake my head. “You don’t want to.”

“Yes, I do,” he says adamantly.

“It doesn’t even matter,” I say.

He groans a little. “If it doesn’t matter, then why can’t you stop crying?” I don’t have a response for that one. “Just tell me. It’ll feel better to get it off your chest.”

“Fine,” I say, wiping underneath my eyes. The tears keep coming. “At school…” I begin, and I can hear how weak my voice is. I don't bother with trying to strengthen it; I know nothing will help. “I get picked on.” I wait for a reaction from him, but he doesn't give one. “Pretty bad.” I look at him again, and he's just nodding understandingly, waiting for me to continue. “There's this one guy, Alex. He didn't used to be so mean. I used to…” I let out an exasperated sigh and look at the ceiling. “I used to kind of like him. It's stupid and pathetic. Ever since he found out, he and his friends have been horrible to me. For like two years, maybe more. I don't know. It's not like I count.” I stare down at my knees now, seeing the light, almost invisible downy hair above my knees peeking out in this fluorescent light. I pull my skirt down to cover it.

“I don't like him anymore, obviously,” I say. “But they still won't leave me alone. And today was really bad.”

After I'm silent for a long time, he asks, “What happened?”

I shake my head and can't meet his eyes. “He said some really mean stuff.” I debate on whether or not I should get specific, but now I can't seem to stop talking. And he’s the one who asked. “My family calls me ‘Duckie,’” I say. “I hate it. It comes from ‘ugly duckling,’ and it just stuck. Ever since I was little. So Alex heard my sister, Kimmie, calling me that today, and said…” My voice breaks and an involuntary whimper escapes me. “He said some really nasty things.” I shake my head and my curls fall in front of my face. I hadn't mean to cry in front of Jackson, but for some reason I don't feel that self-conscious. “He called me… well, a word that rhymes with Duckie and starts with an F.” I meet his eyes and wait for him to get it, and it doesn't take him long. “He called me that, and said that I wasn't f-able.” I sniffle in and stare at the tiles on the floor. “And his friend, Callie, said… she said that I liked it when Alex talked like that to me. Talked dirty, she said.”

A tear falls from either of my eyes and they both slide beneath my chin. “And it's not true,” I say. “I didn't like it. At all. I didn't like that.”

“I know,” Jackson says, his voice soft and unassuming. “I know you didn't like it.”

“It was just really, really mean,” I say. “And I didn't say anything. I didn't know what I could say.”

Jackson sighs contemplatively. “I have a few things to say,” he says. “Can I say them?” I nod and lace my fingers together on my lap. “One, I don't know why your nickname came from the ugly duckling. You're not…” He smiles and rubs the back of his neck, scanning the room before landing on my eyes. “You're not ugly. Definitely not. And I'm not just saying that, I mean it. Okay?”

My cheeks flush. And not in the bad way like before.

“Two, fuck that Alex guy.” I open my mouth with a frown, but he holds a hand up. “No, seriously. He has no right to take advantage of your feelings like that. Take comfort in the fact that he's definitely compensating for something, if you know what I mean.” I don't know what he means - not at all. But I don't say so. “I'm glad you don't have a crush on him anymore, because you deserve better. April, seriously.” He's quiet for a second, but I can tell he's still thinking about it. “Yeah, fuck him. He can go to hell. If he ever talks to you like that again, call me and I'll Uber over and beat the shit out of him. And I wish I was kidding.”

That gets a small smile out of me as I wipe beneath my eyes some more.

“God, I still feel horrible,” he says, watching me. “Don't make this weird. Or tell me if I'm making it weird, because then… I'll feel like an ass, but - can I give you a hug? I just really feel like you need one.”

I nod. He extends his arms and I fall into them, my head resting on his chest with my forehead touching his neck. It lasts for a beat longer than it should, with him patting my back and then lightly squeezing my shoulders when we pull apart.

“Thanks for listening,” I whisper. “How's your paper coming?”

He glances down at his closed laptop. “I’m really close to being done. I just need a concluding paragraph and my works cited page and I think I’ll be good.”

“I’ll read it over and proofread, if you want,” I say, pulling my hair back into a ponytail.

He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “Only if you want,” he says.

I gesture for him to hand the laptop over, and he does. “It’s my job,” I say. “And I want to.”

“Well, if it’s horrible, go easy on me,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “It won’t be horrible. Now, shush.” I read over the paper and fix minor mistakes, but end up enjoying it as a whole very much. He’s right, there’s more to add at the end, but what he does have is pretty impressive, especially judging from what his old work looked like. “This looks great, Jackson,” I say. “You’ve done a really nice job.”

“You’re just saying that,” he says, snatching the computer back.

“I’m not,” I insist. “It sounds like you’re really confident in the points you’re making. It’s really good.”

I do have a few pointers for him, though, and we spend the rest of the time going over those and then how his last few paragraphs should look. Once 5 o’clock comes around, the rain is pouring down and I’m standing under the awning of the building staring out and wondering how I’m going to get to the train without getting soaked. I didn’t bring an umbrella.

“Let me call you a car,” Jackson says, pulling out his phone.

I look at him with surprise. “You don’t have to do that,” I say, pulling the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands. “I can just run.”

“April, don’t be dumb. It’s pouring,” he says. “Let me do this for you.”

It doesn’t take much to get me to concede, and the Uber comes for me in less than five minutes. “Thank you,” I call out over the sound of the rain as I get inside.

“Don’t mention it,” he calls back.

“Go home and finish your paper!” I say, and he gives me a funny salute. I shut the door to the car and am enveloped in a comfortable silence that sits with me until I get home and am met at the door by Kimmie.

“Hey,” she says, and I take off my wet shoes and put them over the vent. “Are you okay?”

I give her a nasty look. I know I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on her - it wasn’t her fault, really. And that’s not right of me to do. But she was the one who said the nickname and got it all started right there in the hallway, and then she didn’t even stick up for me.

“I’m fine,” I say, brushing past her. I see Alice sitting at the table doing homework, and she gives me a small wave. I can smell dinner in the kitchen and my stomach growls because of it.

“You didn’t seem fine,” Kimmie says. “When you left.”

“What happened?” Alice asks.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, then shoot Kimmie another look. “Doesn’t matter. What’s for dinner, mom?”

\---

I’m lying in bed, asleep, later that night when my cell phone rings right by my head. I jump at the sudden sound and squint at the bright screen, but without my glasses I can’t see much of anything. I don’t know what makes me answer it, but I do.

“Hello?”

“April?”

“Yeah…”

“Hey, it’s Jackson.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Did I wake you up or something?”

I rub my eyes and reach for my glasses. “Well, yeah, it’s the middle of the night,” I say, my voice bleary.

He laughs. “It’s 10:13, grandma.”

“Whatever,” I whisper.

“I wanted to call and tell you that I finished the paper,” he says. “And submitted it on time, I just put it in the Dropbox. I can’t remember the last time I could say that It’s out of my hands now, for good.”

“Now we pray,” I say, giggling.

“Yeah, what you said,” he says. “I just wanted to tell you thanks. You know, for kinda pushing me. I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

I smile proudly, just to myself. “You’re welcome, of course. And I already know you rocked the paper,” I say. “You just gotta know it, too.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to see,” he says.

“And you-” I hold my breath when I hear footsteps on the stairs, and then close my mouth when they stop at my room.

“April Mary?” I hear my mom’s voice and widen my eyes as she opens my door. “Who are you talking to?”

I put my hand over the speaker. “Oh - um, Lexie,” I lie. I’m glad it’s dark in my room because otherwise she’d be able to see right through me - the blush on my cheeks hides nothing.

“Well, tell her to hang up and go to bed. It’s late, honey.”

“Okay, mom,” I say, and she gives me a lasting kiss on the forehead. “Night.”

She leaves the room and I uncover the speaker to hear Jackson laughing. “It’s late, honey,” he mimics.

“Shut it,” I say.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” he says. “See you tomorrow. Night, grandma.”

“Good night, Jackson.”

It feels like I’ve only just closed my eyes when my alarm is blaring in my ear, and I wake up drenched in sweat. I lay there after shutting it off and stare up at my ceiling, my eyebrows knitted together as I piece together the dream I just had.

I can’t remember much, but I remember who was in it. Jackson, and only Jackson. Me and him, alone. He was touching me, and I think I liked it.

I sit up in bed with my legs crossed and notice that my heart is hammering. There has to be something wrong with me, I’m sure. I swing my legs over the side of my bed so my feet touch the cold floor, and take a moment with my head bowed to pray for guidance.

But as I try and go about my morning routine, my thoughts keep wandering back to him. The dream comes back in disjointed pieces; his hands on my waist, his mouth on my neck, his eyes all over me.

I start to sweat again as I remember something that never happened.

It doesn’t go away, either. Even as I keep my head low all day and Lexie tries to get me to talk about what’s got me so different, the image of him in my dream keeps coming back. I don’t elaborate to my best friend what happened yesterday afternoon. I want to forget it ever happened, and I know if I talk to her about it, it’ll just become a big thing. I’d have to relive it all over again, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

Once the end of the day comes, I don’t know how I feel about seeing Jackson. I want to, but I’m still feeling weird about him thanks to the dream. The images from it are fading from my mind as the hours pass, but the way it made me feel stays put.

We meet on the quad today; the sun is shining and the air is balmy. Jackson sees me from a distance and looks excited as he starts to dig in his bag to reach something before I get to him.

“Hey,” I say, crisscrossing my legs to sit down next to him. “Whatcha got?”

“Made something for you,” he says. “I hope you like it. I… I don’t know if you will. I mean…” He sighs. “Here.”

He pulls out a translucent, square-shaped blue case and inside, I see a silver CD with the words ‘Good Music for Bad Days’ written in Sharpie. “And these,” he says, handing me a pair of white headphones that are looped in a neat circle. “I’ve never seen you with headphones before, and I know what your family thinks about sectional music.”

“Secular,” I correct lightly.

“Yeah, that,” he says.

I’m still staring down at the CD. No one has ever made me something like this.

“The tracklist is on the back. I hope you can read my writing.” I go to flip it, but he stops me with a hand on my wrist. “Wait no, not yet. Wait until you’re actually listening. I don’t want you pre-judging anything.”

I smile. “Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Jackson.”

“You like it?” he asks, and if I’m not mistaken, he looks a little nervous.

I nod, glancing between the CD in my hand and his searching eyes. “I love it,” I say. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before.”

He shrugs bashfully. “Well, from yesterday… I just thought, I don’t know. On shitty days like that, music always helps me. And I didn’t really know your taste, so I just put together some happy stuff. And like, stuff you need to hear before you die if you’re a person with ears. Just a bunch of cool music that makes me smile. I hope it’ll make you smile, too, otherwise I’ll feel pretty stupid.”

“I think it will,” I say.

“And you gotta tell me what you think of the songs,” he says.

“I will,” I promise, and clutch it tight to my chest. “I promise I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

When I get home that night, I practically bounce through the door. I leave the CD that Jackson made me in my backpack, but I think about it all through dinner and sneak it under my shirt when Mom and Alice are doing the dishes after we’ve finished eating.

I’m about to hurry upstairs to load it onto my computer, but Dad says, “April, where are you going?”

I flip back around and it dawns on me; we have church tonight. Just like every week. I can’t believe that it slipped my mind. “I was going to change into my dress, daddy,” I say. I lay my hand over the flat square that the CD is making under my sweater. “I’ll be right back down.”

“Good,” he says. “Kimmie, Alice, go upstairs with your sister. Be back down in a few, we’re leaving here shortly.”

I lead the way up the stairs, and Kimmie stops me before I can open the door to my room. “Duck-” She cuts herself off. “April. I’ve been wanting to say sorry for the other day. I didn’t think that saying that would start a whole big thing.”

I’ve been doing my best to forget about it. I don’t like the way that the memory sits and rots in my gut when I go back and relive it, so I’m trying to pretend it never happened. “Don’t worry about it,” I say.

“Do they pick on you a lot?” Alice asks, walking closer from where she had been around the corner.

“Wait,” I say, frowning. “How do you… how does she…?”

“I told her what happened,” Kimmie says.

I sigh exasperatedly. “You don’t need to make it into such a big deal,” I insist, feeling anger rise as my throat tightens. “It just happens sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Well, it’s really not fine…” Kimmie says. “Have you ever tried telling?”

I laugh out loud. “Yeah, that would work,” I say sarcastically, then put on a straight face. “I don’t mean to be rude,” I say. “I know you’re just trying to help, but let me deal with it. Anything you do is just going to make it worse.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Kimmie says, obviously hurt.

Now I feel bad. I wrap my arms around my sister and squeeze her tight. “I’m sorry,” I say. “And you don’t have to apologize for the other day. Just… try not to do anything that will provoke those guys. They’ll leave you alone if you just keep your head down. And help me keep mine down.”

She gives me a small nod when I pull away, and then glances at my shirt. “What’s that?” she asks, pointing to the outline of the CD.

I try to be nonchalant; I turn to the side so she can’t see it anymore and then step into my room. “Gotta see if my church dress is clean,” I say, switching the subject. “Better hurry. Dad wants us downstairs.”

The four of us go to Mass and sit in the same spots as usual after genuflecting on the way to our places. Usually I enjoy coming here on Wednesday nights; it gives me the solace I need to get through the rest of the week, but today my mind is elsewhere.

I know it shouldn’t be. I do my best to get myself back on track, but it proves to be nearly impossible. I can’t stop thinking about that CD at home, waiting for me in the top drawer of my dresser, buried underneath my underwear. I can’t wait to go home and listen to it and know that Jackson was thinking of me with every track that he put on there.

I wish I could call him and give him live reviews of every song, but I know that won’t be possible. It’ll be late once we get home and time for bed. I’m so thankful he gave me the headphones, otherwise I don’t know when I would be able to listen to the mix freely. Now, I can listen whenever I want.

Mom squeezes my hand during the ending prayer, and it brings me back down to earth. I squeeze hers back and do my best to force any thoughts of Jackson out of my head, at least for the last couple minutes. I talk directly with God, ask him for forgiveness for being so absent tonight and also for inadvertently lying to my parents about the new music I got. It doesn’t feel good to lie - I’ve never been that type of person. If anyone is sneaky between my three sisters, it’s Kimmie. Never me. I’ve always been the most obedient one, always taking my parents’ words as the first rules to follow after God’s. I tell myself that this one little white lie doesn’t mean that I’m not still like that. I just need a little room to grow and be a teenager. It’s just a mix CD; I could be doing much worse.

We get home and I kiss my parents goodnight and then inconspicuously hurry up to my room. I force myself to go slow, though I’m not really sure why. I think I want to make this last. I want to remember this, and I don’t want it to be rushed.

I know Jackson doesn’t think of me in any special way, but this is the first time that a boy has done something specifically for me. He was thinking of only me when he put these songs together, and I think I’m going to hold that close to my heart for a really long time, even after I’m done tutoring him. I’m never going to forget this.

I change into my nightgown, put on my fuzzy socks and braid my hair back like I sometimes do at night. I open my computer with the lowest brightness setting possible and load the CD into my library so I can sync it with my iPod. Once that’s all taken care of, I shut my laptop, replace it on my desk, and crawl into bed with the headphones Jackson gave me.

I press play on Track 1 and my mouth gapes open as I hear “ _Everybody makes mistakes...everybody has those days_...” I don’t need to look at the back of the case to know what song this is.

“He didn’t,” I say out loud, and start laughing with my hand covering my mouth. Hannah Montana - what I’d been dying to hear when I was younger I’m finally listening to, in my bed ten years later. I lie there, staring at the ceiling through the dark until the song is over. I play it again once it finishes and know I’m going to have these words memorized in no time at all.

I play Track 2, and flip the CD over to see that it’s “Uptown Funk” by Bruno Mars. It has a really fast beat, and I’m bobbing my head and doing my best to dance while lying down. Once the chorus comes along, my eyes widen until I realize he’s saying _funk_ you up. I cover my face and laugh at myself, shaking my head at the whole thing.

Track 3 is called “We’re Going to be Friends” by the White Stripes. I’m smiling right away; one of the first lines is: _I can tell that we are gonna be friends._ It has a slow, easy guitar and it soothes me into feeling very sleepy and very, very happy.

I can tell that we are gonna be friends.

\---

I only get through the first three songs on the CD; partly because I was falling asleep and partly because I want to save it and make it last for as long as I can. I go through the school day with a smile on my face, and everyone at the lunch table notices.

“Let me guess,” Mark says. “The second coming of Jesus Christ happened last night. Or you got taken up in the Rapture and they told you that you’re the new Virgin Mary. Am I close?”

I roll my eyes and continue to chew my turkey sandwich. Alice giggles at him and Lexie lets out a loud groan. “No,” I say.

“Keep dreaming,” he says. “You got enough faith for everyone here at this table.”

Arizona nods thoughtfully. “He’s not wrong,” she says.

“My middle name is Mary for a reason,” I say, pointing a finger in the air.

“You’re such an idiot,” Lexie says, nudging me with her shoulder. I haven’t told her about the mix CD yet, but I plan to. I just haven’t gotten her alone today so far.

I’ve barely been able to concentrate today. We started the volleyball unit in gym, and I lost count of how many balls I let go flying by my head because my mind was on Jackson. Ever since he gave me the CD with the songs that meant so much, I can’t get him out of my head. His piercing eyes, his smile, the light stubble dusting his cheeks, everything. Even just thinking about him, my stomach starts doing a nervous sort of jitter that I can’t seem to shake.

Lexie and I walk to our lockers together after lunch, and I grab her wrist before she can part ways with me. Now, she has Anatomy class and I have my free period; it’s one of the only classes that we don’t have together. “He made me a CD,” I say, like I’m sharing a secret.

Her face screws up in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Jackson,” I whisper. “He made me a mix CD.” I pull it out of my purse and show it to her, and I watch her eyes read the Sharpie on the front of it.

“Whoa,” she says, her eyes shifting back up to mine. “You’re totally hiding this from your parents.”

“Well… yeah,” I say, a bit unsurely. “They wouldn’t be comfortable with me listening to this kind of music. But…” I smile uncontrollably. “It’s really good, Lex.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and I nod vigorously.

“I’ve only listened to three songs,” I say. “But he put Hannah Montana on there.”

“Oh, my god, you’re kidding me,” she says, and the warning bell sounds. “Seven-year-old you would die.”

“Seventeen-year-old me died!” I exclaim. She gives me a sideways look that I’m not certain how to interpret. “What?” I ask.

“I’m not getting on your case,” she says. “I promise. But… you totally like him.”

Within milliseconds, my blush gives me away. I feel it flood my chest, my neck, my cheeks and my ears, all in one fell swoop.

“Apes, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” she assures me. “He seems like a really good guy. For once, I’m not gonna throttle you for having a crush on Douchey 1 or Douchey 2.”

“Oh, my gosh,” I say, sighing and looking away. My blush still hasn’t died. “Just don’t… it’s not a big deal, okay? Don’t tell anyone. Do not tell Mark.”

“Oh, no, never,” Lexie says, shaking her head. “That would give him way too much satisfaction. Rule number one, never tell Mark that he was right. Ever.”

We both giggle, and then have to make our way to our separate classrooms. When I get into mine, I collapse down into my desk and press my cold hands against my cheeks in the effort to make the pink go away, and it seems to be working. After a few minutes, I pull out my homework from AP Bio and start to work on it until I hear footsteps approach my desk. I look to my left and see that it’s George, smiling at me and sitting atop the desk next to mine.

“Hey, April,” he says, half-lifting an arm with a wave.

“Hey, George,” I say, leaning away from the worksheet I’d been doing.

“I - um…” He wrings his hands and I can’t help but stare at them as he does so. He’s such a nervous person; at least that’s the only way I’ve ever seen him behave. “I wanted to ask you something.” I nod him along with the eraser of my pencil in my mouth, and he looks up at the ceiling to take in a giant breath. “Homecoming is coming up. You know? And I - uh, I… I was wondering, if you didn’t have anyone to go with, if you would want… if you’d want to go with me?”

Homecoming. The dance, the game, the whole celebration. In comparison to other schools, ours isn’t much, but every year they try and do something. It always flies under my radar because I’ve never gone to a dance before, no less _with_ someone. I leave that kind of stuff to Lexie and Arizona, and I stay home. I’m not even sure if my parents would let me go, anyway.

But George is asking me. Right now, he’s asking _me_ , and I can’t think of anything to say. I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve never been the girl that boys ask to dances, not once. Not ever.

I spend too much time thinking. He speaks up again before I can say anything. “I’m sorry, that - it’s okay,” he stammers. “I shouldn’t have asked. Please forget that I did. I didn’t mean to make this weird, but it’s obvious that I did, and I’m just gonna go now.”

He turns away and walks back to his desk, and I’m still sitting at my desk completely floored. That all happened so fast, and I still don’t know how to react to it. I stare with my eyes wide, and my pencil falls out of my fingers to land overtop my worksheet. As I replay his words, my forehead crinkles with confusion and I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt for just gaping at him and not giving him any sort of response at all. That was so incredibly rude of me.

I try to turn back to my work, but now I have a bad taste in my mouth. I’m not that girl who blows people off like that, not when they wear their emotions on their sleeve in such a vulnerable way. I was so unfair to him in just that split second, and I can’t live with myself unless I fix it.

I turn around in my seat and see him in the back corner of the room with his head down, writing furiously. I take a deep breath and get up, then walk over to him with purpose.

Without even looking up, he says, “You don’t have to....” He shakes his head. “It’s just better if we pretend I didn’t just fatally humiliate myself back there. You gotta spare me.”

“I’m sorry, George,” I say, and he’s still shaking his head. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize you felt that way about me,” I say, then chuckle incredulously. “I didn’t realize that anyone did. So it kind of caught me off guard. I really didn’t mean to just stare at you like a fish.” He smiles and lets a puff of air from his nose. “I just… I don’t really feel the same way, and I don’t think it’d be fair of me to go… with you, and…” I sigh. “I’m sorry. That was supposed to come out better.”

He looks up from his paper. “April, it’s okay,” he says, his face open and kind. “I do like you. A lot. You’re smart, funny, kind… not to mention, cute.” He can’t meet my eyes when he says the last part, and I can’t look at him either. My blush is back. “It’s fine that you don’t like me back. Really, it is. I just, I don’t know, I couldn’t not try. I had to see. I was gonna keep beating myself up if I didn’t.” He moves his lips to one side. “I like being your friend. I don’t want to make things weird between us, so I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it wasn’t that,” I say, sitting on top of the desk beside him and linking my ankles together. “I… um, I just think I like someone else.”

“Just my luck, huh?” he says, good-naturedly. “I hope he likes you back. I mean, he should. If he has a brain.”

My stomach is full of butterflies as I listen to George talk and think about Jackson ever thinking about me that way. It’s impossible, but it’s a daydream that I’m living for right now.

“Thanks for being so nice about it,” I say. It could’ve gone so much worse. With anyone else but George, my guess is that it would have.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, shrugging. “All I did was be a decent person. You don’t have to thank people for that, they should just do it.”

Those words resonate with me. I’d never thought of it that way, and it makes sense. “Oh,” I say .”I guess you’re right.”

He turns in his seat to look at me, then rests his cheek on his fist. “So, tell me about this guy, whoever he is,” George says.

I pinch my lips together in attempts to keep the smile off of my face. “I… you don’t have to do that,” I say.

“Do what?”

“Ask about him. You don’t really wanna know.”

“I asked, that means I wanna know,” he says. “We’re still gonna be friends. I’m determined not to make things weird now. So, tell me about him.”

“I… uh,” I say, a smile pulling the corners of my mouth up as I begin to speak. “Well, I tutor him. He’s a little older than me, but it doesn’t make it weird or anything. And yesterday, he gave me a mix CD.”

George raises his eyebrows. “A mix CD? What songs are on it?”

I shrug a little. “I don’t know all of them yet. I’ve only listened to three.” I grin. “I’m kinda saving it.”

He nods. “You know what a mix CD means, right?” he asks.

I feel my face go pale. Is there something that I’m missing? Is there some sort of secret language, where if a boy gives you a mix CD that means that he wants something more from you? Like sex?

I bite the inside of my lip and shake my head nervously. “No…”

He rolls his eyes. “It means he likes you, dummy.”

My eyes widen and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first. “I don’t know about that,” I finally say.

“Trust me,” he says, and he looks sure. “Just trust me.”

\---

I get to the quad before Jackson does today, and I go to the same shady spot where we always sit when it’s nice enough to be outside. I’m tired of my hair sticking to my neck in the heat, so I wind it up in a bun on the top of my head with little tendrils coming out to frame my face. I’m sitting with my legs crisscrossed, working on a crossword puzzle on my lap when I hear a familiar voice across the way.

I look up at see Jackson walking with a tall, brown-haired boy who must be his friend. They don’t know I’m over here yet and are being typical boys; shoving each other and laughing about it like it’s the funniest thing on earth. I roll my eyes at the two of them, yet can’t help but smile anyway. Even when he acts like an absolute child, he’s so cute.

No, stop. Stop. I can’t start thinking these things, especially now. Especially when I’m about to spend an hour with him and somehow not trip over my words.

Jackson sees me at the same time his friend does and raises his hand in a wave. I can hear his friend say something along the lines of, “Told you,” as he pushes Jackson in my direction.

I raise my eyebrows and Jackson shakes his head, without words telling me to ignore the other boy. They walk up to me together and I can hear they’re both out of breath from the roughhousing, but still look happy.

“Hey, April,” Jackson says, “This is Charles.”

I make a move to get up from the ground to be polite, and Jackson extends his hand for me to grab. I take him up on it, and my heart practically rockets out of my chest. His grip is warm, dry, and tight on my hand as he pulls me up to a standing position, and when he lets go of me it’s much too soon.

“Charles, this is April,” Jackson says.

“The tutor,” Charles says, and shakes my hand. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I make a bewildered expression. “Really?” I ask.

Jackson punches him in the shoulder - hard. “Shut up,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“What? All good things,” Charles says. “Pretty boy over here thought that you might not-”

“Stop,” Jackson says, blue eyes wide. “Shut the fuck up. Now. Go. Please.”

I giggle a little bit and wave Charles goodbye. “Nice to meet you,” I say, and he gives me a wink before turning around and walking away.

Jackson throws his backpack on the ground and then collapses next to it, on his back with his knees bent. He covers his face with his hands and lets out a low groan, saying, “He’s such an asshole. Sorry about him.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “He seemed nice. And he was funny.”

“Yeah, funny,” he scoffs. “Dude’s my best friend, but he’s an ass.”

“What was he trying to get on your case about?” I ask curiously, sitting up on my knees with my hands flat on my thighs, smoothing down my skirt.

“Nothing…” he trails off.

“Sounds like something…” I say, matching his tone.

He peeps out at me from between his fingers. “He was giving me shit about you,” he mumbles.

Hearing that, my hands suddenly get clammy and I instantly think the worst. They must be making fun of me behind my back, and I should’ve known that I was totally disillusioned in thinking that Jackson and I could even be friends.

“Like how?” I ask cautiously.

He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “I was here a little bit ago and didn’t see you. And he was being a dick and saying that you weren’t gonna show off because that CD that I made freaked you out or whatever.” He shakes his head. “I told him he was wrong, but he was really enjoying making fun of me. I knew you’d show.”

I feel better. Jackson would never treat me like the boys at school do. “Of course I showed,” I say. “I kinda have to. You’re my job.”

He uncovers his face and reaches over to smack my knee. I giggle and rest down on my heels, and then pull the CD out of my purse. He sits up after seeing what I’ve got and his eyes sparkle when he asks, “So, did you like it?”

I hold it in two hands like it’s precious, which to me, it really is. “I only listened to the first three,” I admit.

“What?” he asks, his eyes still lit up.

“I kind of wanted to save it,” I say. “Plus, I was falling asleep. I had Mass last night.”

“Ah,” he says. “Mass. And my music is putting you to sleep, huh?” He chuckles. “That’s not really what it was meant to do.”

“It wasn’t the music!” I insist. “How could Hannah Montana make me fall asleep?” He looks down at the grass bashfully and rips out a handful to cast aside. “Busted,” I say. “You’re totally a fannah of Hannah.”

“No,” he jumps in, much too quickly. “My cousins used to watch the show and it was alright. I remembered you talking about it, so… how could I not put one of hers in there?” He scoffs and laughs at once and mutters, “Fannah.”

“Well, I loved it,” I say. “Oh, and! Uptown Funk, right? Jackson…” I lean close to him. “He almost swears.”

He leans close to me with mock-wide eyes and the same tone, lightly making fun of me. “But he says _funk_ ,” Jackson says. “And you lived.” He pulls my wrist off of my lap and checks the inside of it for a pulse. “Oh, my god, you lived.”

I yank my wrist away, being forced to notice how the skin he touched feels like it’s covered in sparks. “Shut up,” I say.

He laughs at himself and then opens his laptop, eyes widening when he looks at the screen. “What is it?” I ask, trying to peer around, but the screen is dim and the lighting outside makes it too hard to see.

“Grades are up,” he says. “Just got an email.”

I bounce up and down on my knees. “Go check, go check,” I say.

He looks up. “I’m kinda freaking out.”

“Want me to do it?” I ask, and he nods and hands me his laptop. I find the link to click on, scroll down until I see the Romantic Period poems assignment, and then look across the row. What’s staring me in the face is a big, fat A.

I can’t keep the smile off my face. “Congratulations,” I say, and set the laptop off to the side. “You got an A!”

His mouth falls open in shock and he looks this way and that like there might be someone coming out to say it was all a trick. “You’re kidding,” he sputters. “For real?”

I pick up the computer again and turn it around so he can see. “For real,” I say.

His shock turns into surprise, which turns into pure joy. “Oh, my god,” he says happily. “I’ve never gotten an A on a paper before. Ever.”

It doesn’t feel like I have a stomach anymore, only butterflies. The way he’s looking at me is killer; his eyes are the same color as the sky today, and I feel like I’m going to melt down into a little puddle if he keeps them on me. His smile is breaking his face in two; he’s still in so much disbelief.

“I knew you could do it,” I say.

“Yeah, thanks to you,” he says.

“Well, you’re the one who wrote it,” I say.

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been here,” he says. “Okay? Take the compliment. Please, god, take the compliment.”

I laugh and feel my face get warm. “Okay,” I agree.

There’s a moment between us where his eyes skim over my face, stopping briefly on my lips before darting back up. “Can I hug you again?” he asks.

I don’t answer with words; instead, I essentially throw myself into his arms at full force and hold him tight around the neck. The impact knocks him backwards, though, and his back hits the cool grass with a thump and he takes me with him.

So now, he’s laying flat and my upper half is still somewhat on top of him with my left hip braced on the grass. I lift my head up and am about to pull away fully, but his eyes catch mine and we share a moment where I feel things that I’ve never felt before.

His eyes search mine; for what, I’m not sure. The smile dies away from his lips and is replaced with a sort of thoughtful, wistful expression that I’ve never seen him wear before, and it makes my heart do a flip. I can feel how fast I’m breathing against him as he reaches up and tucks a piece of my hair that fell out of my bun behind my ear, and then his eyes move to my mouth. I follow his gesture and look at his lips too, which are slightly parted and the most perfect shade of pink.

“Heads up!” someone screams, and a frisbee comes whizzing past us at full speed. I quickly yank my body off of Jackson’s and dust myself off, clearly flustered as I try and figure out what the tight feeling below my gut is. My body feels different. It’s doing things it never has before, and I have no idea what’s going on.

“Geez, watch where you’re throwing that thing,” Jackson calls, and the guy waves at us in apology.

I tuck my hair behind my ears over and over again while staring, wide-eyed, at the grass. “So - um. I.. um, so what’s your next assignment?” I ask him, rubbing my hands over my knobby knees.

“I don't know yet,” he says, squinting off into the distance towards the place on the lawn where the frisbee originated.

My breath is rattling in my chest and my whole body is trembling. I can't be here anymore; his presence is making me way too nervous. “Oh, well then. Cool!” I say, way too brightly. “Then it looks like I'll be going. Yep, I’ll just be leaving now. And you - you'll stay. You stay here.” I stand up and gather my things, shoving them haphazardly into my backpack. “See you tomorrow!” I shout, throwing the words over my shoulder as I break into a run towards the train.

\---

“Lex, you better sit,” I say, later that evening. Me and my best friend are in my room with the door closed, speaking in hushed tones. We just got done eating dinner with my family; I asked if she could come over because telling her about what happened absolutely cannot wait until tomorrow at school.

She plops down on my bed, balling up my pink nightgown and then tossing it like a basketball into the hamper. “Geez. Okay, Spy Barbie, spit it out.”

I pick the nightgown back up. “This is not dirty,” I say under my breath, then step into the corner to change into it. I come out, take a deep breath, and say it. “I think me and Jackson almost kissed today.”

Her face turns to pure shock. “What,” she says, her voice low.

“Yeah,” I say, pacing across my room. I tell her everything; from what Charles said to him, to the A on his paper, to the moment that almost was.

“Stupid fucking frisbee,” Lexie grumbles.

“No… no,” I say, shaking my head. “God sent that frisbee.”

“April.”

“What?! He did! I'm sure He did!” My heart hammers into my throat. “I am not ready for...that. I don't think I ever will be. He's in _college_ , Lexie.”

“And? Mark should be,” she says.

“That's different,” I say.

“How?”

I open my mouth but have no comeback. “I wouldn't even know what I was doing,” I mumble, sitting down on my desk chair. I run one hand over the sheeny material of my nightgown, and the static makes the near-invisible hair on my arms stand on end.

“What, if he kissed you?” she asks. I nod. “Well, that's an easy fix. Just do some research.”

I look at her dubiously and repeat the word. “Research.”

“Yeah. Here, pull up YouTube.” She scoots to the end of my bed to sit closer to me at my desk, and I open my computer.

“I'm not even supposed to be on this right now…” I say, but she raises her hand tersely in opposition.

“Shush. These are important matters.” She turns the laptop towards herself and types in the search bar: “the best kisses of all time.”

“What are you-”

“Just - please. Trust me. You're gonna want this.”

A video comes up on the screen of Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling making out in _The Notebook_. “Lexie!” I say, my voice a harsh whisper. “What about this is supposed to help me?”

“Just watch the damn - oh, my god. You are so dumb. Where's your red notebook?”

“I don't use that anymore,” I say, picking at a loose thread on the skirt of my dress.

She opens the top drawer of my desk and starts digging around. “Why? You used to carry it around everywhere.” She picks up a couple old planners and casts them aside, peering under them for the notebook. “It was like, attached to your hip.”

“Yeah, well, then Alex stole it and read my journal entry out loud at lunch. So I thought it would probably be best not to carry it anymore,” I snap.

Lexie meets my eyes and eventually pulls it out from the bottom of the drawer finally. “That's not gonna happen again,” she says. “I promise.” She opens it to lay in front of me and then hands me a pen.

“What's this for?” I ask.

“Taking notes,” she says, wiggling then pen at me. “Write down what you see. Studying is what you do best, right?”

I eye her warily, but take the pen. We watch the rest of the kissing videos in succession, and by the end I have about three full pages of notes.

“Now you won't feel so caught off guard,” Lexie says.

I look down at my loopy handwriting scrawled across the pages; some things underlined, some crossed out, but what I need is left. I sigh. “Thanks.”

Then, there's a soft knock at my door. “Lexie, honey?” It's my mom. “It's about time for you to head home.”

Lexie makes lasting eye contact with me. “Thanks, Mrs. Kepner,” she says. “I was just going.”

\---

I run my fingers over the corner of my notebook on the train the next day. I had kept it zipped up tight in my bag all day, afraid to take it out because of what happened last time. But now, with no one that I know around me, I can take it out and spend a few minutes going over the ‘notes’ I took yesterday.

Jackson is waiting for me at a picnic table, without his computer or phone to look at, just staring ahead with his chin in his palm. When he sees me from afar, he picks his head up and waves, and I try and force my blush away as I wave back.

I slide into the picnic table and sit down, smoothing my skirt over my legs so it lays flat. “Hi, Jackson,” I say sweetly, and I'm finding it hard to meet his eyes.

He, on the other hand, isn't finding it hard to meet mine at all. “Nice to see you,” he says, his tone lilting.

“You, too,” I say, and set my notebook off to the side, under my purse.

“Is it _really_ nice to see me, though?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “You couldn't seem to get away from me fast enough yesterday.”

“What?” I stammer. “No, no, it wasn't you. I just - I had to go.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, nodding along. “Sure.”

“Jackson, no…” I say, looking at him desperately. “That's not why I left.”

“No, I get it, I get it,” he says. “I'm so insufferable that you can't stand to be around me. It's fine. I get that a lot, actually.”

“ _Stop_ ,” I insist. “And no, you do not.”

“You don't know,” he says, shrugging. “After you literally _ran_ away from me yesterday, I sat there on the grass crying for an hour. Maybe two. I was inconsolable, ask anyone.”

“Jackson…” I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”

He wipes beneath his eyes as he fake cries, and I reach across the table to swat his wrist away - but as I do so, my elbow comes back and knocks my purse off the table and onto the ground, which sends my notebook skidding across the table toward him.

“This yours?” he asks, holding it up.

“Yes,” I say, trying to keep calm.

He cracks it open, and from where I'm sitting I can see he goes right to the pages I was writing in last night. Before I can stop him, he starts to read. “It looks like you have to turn your head the opposite way of the other person. Use tongue? Some use their tongues and some seem like they don't. Maybe I shouldn't try that until later - looks hard. The hands can go anywhere, most of them-”

“Please stop,” I say, reaching across the table.

“What is this?” he asks, chuckling.

I'm mortified. My brain scrambles for something to say, and I can barely think of anything in time. “Um, uh… a story,” I finally say.

“Okay,” he says, and makes very intense eye contact with me. I match him.

We're silent for a few long moments. I want to crawl under the table and then go into the ground, possibly even further. “So now’s the part where you make fun of me, right?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair.

My stupid red notebook. I can't believe that I thought that getting it out again would be a good idea. I thought what we had going was on the up and up, but now it's all ruined. All thanks to that stupid notebook.

“No, April,” he says meaningfully. “I would never do that. God, no.” He hands over the notebook. “Here, have it back. I didn't mean to be an ass - that was really stupid of me. I don't… I didn't mean to make it like that. I was just trying to make you laugh, but it wasn't funny. I'm sorry. But I would never make fun of you. That's not me.”

I take the notebook and shove it into my backpack, where it most likely will stay forever.

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “Please don't sprint away from me at top speed.”

“I won't,” I mumble.

As I stare down at the table, I see his hand reach across the table and then feel it take mine gently. “I’d never be what those boys at school are to you,” he says, his voice soft like a promise. “Please believe me.”

I look up and meet his sincere, concerned eyes. “I do,” I say.

“Yeah?”

I nod.

“You ready to talk about something else?” he asks, testing the waters. “I have to write an analysis of this new poem for my Poetry 101 class. Wanna read it? Would that make you feel better, sounding smart and making me sound dumb as hell?”

I can’t resist giggling a little. “Yeah,” I say.

“Alright,” he says, pulling out a thinner book that the one I’m used to us using. “Let me find it. It’s called…” He flips through the pages until he comes across the one he needs. “I Love You, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.” He turns the book to face me, but I glance up at him. “Want me to just try and read it this time? Would that make you happy?” he asks.

I nod. He clears his throat.

“Okay,” he says. “Here goes. No judging.”

I smile. “I won’t.”

“ _I love your lips when they’re wet with wine and red with wild desire; I love your eyes when the lovelight lies lit with a passionate fire. I love your arms when the warm white flesh touches mine in a fond embrace; I love your hair when the strands enmesh your kisses against my face_.”

I stare at him the whole time he’s reading, watching his lips move with the words. When his tongue darts out to wet them, I feel my heart speed up tenfold and then again when his eyebrows furrow together after the last line.

When he looks up at me once he’s finished, it’s all over.

I know that, for me, there’s no coming back from this. From him.


	4. Chapter 4

I tell myself that in order to make my CD last for as long as I possibly can, I’ll listen to three songs per week. It takes a lot of self-control, but it gives me something to look forward to every Monday night. And as for the songs I’ve already heard - I listen to those on the commute to Lincoln Park every day after school.

On the week of Halloween, I can finally finish the document I made where I listed all the song titles, artists, and what I thought of them. The last song I write down is called “Only the Good Die Young” by Billy Joel, and though the title is pretty morbid, the content isn’t that way at all.

After it’s finished playing, I sit there in my room and feel a sense of emptiness that I know is misplaced. If I asked for another mix CD, Jackson would jump at the chance to make one, but I still feel a little hollow because the first one is over. I hold the physical copy in my hands and turn it over carefully, like it’s holy, and then tuck it into my underwear drawer where it can never be discovered.

I read over the list of reviews and get an excited feeling in my stomach as I think about giving it to Jackson tomorrow. He’s going to love reading what I wrote - he’s been dying for my thoughts on the whole thing ever since he gave it to me, but I’ve made him wait. He’s been counting down the days since the second week until I’d finish.

Jackson and I have gotten a lot closer. Since the weather has gotten colder, we have a favorite Starbucks that we like to sit in and study instead of the quad or Arts & Letters. He likes to buy me chai teas - and while I’d always fight him on it in the beginning, now it’s just part of the routine. There’s usually one sitting across the table from him, waiting for me by the time I get there, and even though it’s a Tall size, I can never drink all of it. By the time 5 o’clock rolls around, he’ll finish it for me.

The hour I spend with him is the best part of all of my days. I hold onto it tight and am able to get through some hard times at school because I know I’m going to see him.

Before heading off to the bus stop with my sisters today, my mom stops me. “Can you go with Alice to the dentist today after school?” she asks, touching my shoulder.

I shake my head. “I have tutoring,” I say.

Mom’s lips purse and she lets out a little sigh. “Are you sure you can’t tell your teacher that you have to skip one day? Alice told me she’d rather have you there than Kimmie.”

“I can’t, mom,” I say. “I’m sorry. Kimmie’s gonna have to do it. This is for community service, it doesn’t really look that good if I miss a day.”

“I know, I understand,” she says, then touches my cheek. “You’re our dedicated one, you always have been. I’m so proud of you, April. You have such great grades, you're doing community service, you sent your application in already… my little Duckie is growing up on me.”

“Mom…”

“I’m serious,” she says, green eyes wide. “You should be proud of yourself, too. You are growing into a beautiful woman of God, and I couldn’t want anything better for you.”

I smile at her. Her words feel good, but for some reason I feel like I almost don’t deserve them. I don’t really know why.

“You do your tutoring every day and it’s going so well; you always reach out to help others before yourself. That’s such an important quality. Your sisters can learn from you.”

I give her a tight hug. “Thanks, mom,” I say.

“Have a good day,” she says. “Kimmie can take Alice. I’ll see you tonight.”

I wave her goodbye and then head off to school alongside my sisters. We’re silent on the way to the bus, and while my mom’s words play through my head for a little while, they’re soon overtaken by thoughts of Jackson.

\---

Lexie and I are running around the upstairs track for the cross-country unit in gym, trying to talk as we wheeze along.

“I finished the CD,” I say, glancing around for Mrs. Altman. When I don’t see her, I slow my pace and walk instead.

“Really?” Lexie asks, matching my pace. “Took you long enough, geez.” She laughs.

“I wanted to make it last,” I say. “It’s more special-”

“Kepner! Grey! No walking!” Mrs. Altman bellows.

We roll our eyes and start pumping our arms again, our feet quickening up, too. “Is Jackson excited?” Lexie asks, dark brown ponytail bouncing with each stride.

“He wouldn’t shut up about me finishing it like, the whole time,” I say, a breathless smile on my face. “I wrote out a review thing. He’s gonna like it.”

Lexie shakes her head and wipes some sweat from her forehead as she looks over at me. “So in love,” she says.

“Shush,” I say. My face is already red with exertion otherwise a blush would’ve shown up, I’m sure.

“When are you guys just gonna bang already?” she asks.

My eyes widen with shock and I stop running, which causes the person behind me to crash into my back and both of us to fall to the ground. As I untangle my legs and arms from them, I see that it’s Callie Torres, and she looks angry.

“Watch where you’re going, Fuckie,” she spits, but says the last part quietly so Mrs. Altman won’t hear.

“Everyone alright, ladies?” Mrs. Altman calls out.

Callie puts on a sickeningly sweet, big smile. “We’re fine, Mrs. Altman. April just stopped and made me fall.”

Mrs. Altman walks up to us and looks at Lexie, who’s stayed hovering nearby. “Grey, not your business. Move along.” Lexie looks down at me where I’m still sitting on the floor and then back up to the teacher. “Move _along_ ,” Mrs. Altman says through her clenched jaw.

Lexie begrudgingly trots away, while throwing a desperate glance back over her shoulder.

“Tell me what happened, Torres,” she says.

“Well, I was just running and trying to make my best time. And April just stopped. And I think I might’ve twisted my ankle or something,” Callie says.

“I didn’t mean to stop, I was just-”

“This wouldn’t be the first time I saw you stop today, Kepner,” Mrs. Altman says. “And if I hear you talk back again, you’re getting a trip to Webber’s office.”

I keep my mouth shut.

“Let me check out that ankle,” Mrs. Altman says, and feels Callie’s leg. “You’re fine. You can put weight on it. Come on girls, get up.” We both stand and she looks between us. “Kepner, if I see you stop one more time, you’re out of here.”

I nod a little bit and then she walks away. As her back is turned, Callie shoves me by the shoulders so hard that I run into the guardrail on the side of the track and have to grip it so I don’t fall again. She runs by me, and then Lexie comes back around the track looking winded as ever.

“What happened?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

After gym lets out, it’s time for us to head to AP English. Lexie leaves first because she has to grab her books from her locker and I already have mine with me, and I tell her that I’ll just meet her in class. I take my time putting all the pieces of my regular uniform back on; my black buckle shoes, knee-socks, button-up cap-sleeved white blouse tucked into my navy blue skirt, and my blazer over that. I brush my hair and pull it back into a ponytail, and then glance in the mirror before I walk out of the locker room.

The hallway is mostly desolate, and I think that I’m the only person around until I see Callie standing just outside the door, seemingly waiting for me.

I lose my breath for a second and see that she’s not done from earlier; she’s coming closer, so I make myself as small as I can.

“Kepner, if you make me look stupid again…” she says, her face close to mine. She’s backed me into a corner between the two drinking fountains where I have no means of escape. “You’re gonna fucking regret it.”

“I didn’t mean to, I- I didn’t know-”

“ _I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know!_ ” she mimics in a squeaky voice. “Shut up. I said what I said. Don’t…” She takes a two handfuls of my white shirt by where there’s extra fabric by my stomach. “Do it again.” After she speaks the last word, she pulls her fists in opposite directions and rips the shirt up the middle, popping at least half of the buttons. She turns her head quickly to look over her shoulder, where Alex and Izzie are standing, looking curious. “Oh, my god, Kepner - I’m not gay!” she sputters, her voice rising. “Get away from me!”

“What the fuck?” Alex says, sauntering closer.

Tears have sprung to my eyes as I try to cover up my bare stomach that’s been exposed. I pull the two sides of my blazer in, but it doesn’t do much good.

“No wonder she’s not getting laid - she’s into girls,” Izzie sneers.

“She totally came onto me,” Callie says, extending her arm to point at me. “Did you see that? She even tried to take her shirt off.”

I back myself against the wall, still between the drinking fountains. Tears are streaming down my face and I’m hiccupping with sobs; I have nothing to say for myself. They’re not going to listen to me, even though none of this is close to the truth. I have no chance here, and they’re only drawing closer.

“What’s going on here?” I hear, and look desperately to where the voice came from. I see Ms. Montgomery coming, wearing her classic black glasses, pencil skirt and heels, and she looks mad. “I said, what exactly is going on here?”

“Oh - we were just going,” Callie says, backing up off of me.

“Oh, no you’re not,” Ms. Montgomery says, then her eyes flood with recognition once she looks at me, flush to the wall. “April.”

She’s the teacher who I’m the closest with; the one who gave me the tutoring job and the one who understands me the most. I write for her, so of course she does. We talk about a lot of things. She knows a lot about me, and the fact that she showed up rather than any other teacher tells me that God is looking out for me.

But she can’t prove anything; she and I both know that. I can see it in her eyes, too. “The three of you, get to class.” They stay standing where they are, looking like deer in the headlights. “Move!” Ms. Montgomery says harshly. “Go, scatter!”

They jump at her tone and then head off in different directions, and she gets closer to me. “Oh, April,” she says, eyes skimming down to see the rip in my shirt. “Oh, honey,” she says. “Let’s get you to the office and we’ll get you a new shirt.”

I haven’t said anything yet. I don’t know if I can. I’m still shaking from the encounter, and a new shirt sounds like the best thing right now. I don’t want to be wearing one that Callie’s hands have touched and destroyed.

Ms. Montgomery hands me a size small and I go into a side room off the office to change into it. Once I come out, I smooth out the creases and button the middle button of my blazer, and try to take some deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I meet her eyes. “Why won’t they leave me alone?” I say, and my voice shakes. “I don’t do anything to them. I don’t understand.”

She lets out a long sigh. “Because you’re good,” she says. “You’re smart and sweet, without a bad thought against anyone. Bullies like them - they’re gonna try to take that away from you.” She caps her hand over my shoulder. “Don’t let them.”

I bite my lower lip and nod shakily. “I’m going to make some calls to their parents,” she says. “You head back to class. Your friend, Lexie, was wondering where you were. That’s how I found you.”

When I get to class, I slink in the door unnoticed and sit down next to my best friend while keeping my head low. “Apricot,” she says urgently. “What happened?”

My outward appearance is back to normal, but Lexie can see it on my face.

I shake my head.

“April…” she says, turning sideways in her chair to face me. “What?”

“Callie,” I murmur under my breath. “She tore my shirt.”

“She _what_?”

Her eyes dart to my shirt to try and find where it happened. “I got a new one,” I say. “Ms. Montgomery stopped her. She’s calling their parents right now in the office.”

Lexie’s face turns red, and not with embarrassment like mine usually does. She’s mad. She clenches her fists and cracks her knuckles, then turns to face forward again. “She’s gonna gonna get away with just a slap on the wrist,” she says.

“She’s not,” I say. “Lex, don’t go and do anything. Just don’t.”

She looks sideways at me. “She’s gonna get away with doing stuff like that to you.”

“She’s not,” I repeat. “Ms. Montgomery called all their parents. They’re getting punished.” I reach over and touch her arm. “If you go and do something stupid, it’s only gonna come back on you.”

“I don’t care,” Lexie says. “She deserves it. And it wouldn’t be stupid.”  

“No, no,” I say. “You can’t fight fire with fire.”

“So what are you gonna fight it with?” she spits. “Prayer?”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. The look in her eyes is so fierce and I know she’s trying to defend me, but she’s only making it worse. “Yeah,” I say submissively.

“April…” she sighs. “It doesn’t always work that way.”

“Just leave it alone,” I say, and cross my arms over my desk.

“This has to stop sometime,” she persists.

“It _will_ ,” I say.

She doesn’t respond, and I don’t look over at her. Moments later, Ms. Montgomery walks in, makes brief eye contact with me, and then stands at the front of the room to begin the lesson.

\---

I meet Jackson on DePaul’s campus like usual, and it doesn’t take him long to realize that something is up with me. “I forgot my computer at my house like a dumbass,” he says. “Do you mind if we stop there? It’s on the way.”

I nod, mute. I feel him give me a funny look, but he doesn’t bring it up. He continues to talk as we go along, telling me different things about the apartment complexes in his neighborhood and what kind of people live where. When we finally get to his doorstep, I still haven’t said a single word.

As he unlocks the door to walk inside, he ushers me in by the small of my back. “You’re surprisingly quiet today, Talkie Tina,” he says.

I look around his place. It’s big and clean, which I hadn’t expected. He has enough money to not have roommates, so it’s quiet. He has nice furniture and a big TV across from the couch, bigger than any I’ve ever seen.

“Wanna sit down?” he asks, coming out of his room with his laptop under his arm. “April, I gotta ask. What’s going on with you today?”

I look up at him and sit down on the couch with my hands on my knees and my feet placed next to each other on the floor. It’s overwhelming to be in a space that’s so much _him_. It feels much more intimate than I thought it would, and I’m not sure what to make of it. It smells like him, overpoweringly so. I want to bury myself in it and run out of here at the same time.

“I’m fine,” I say.

He plops down next to me, his arm over the back of the couch where I’m sitting. “I don’t know why you think I’m going to believe you,” he says. “It never works. Who fucked with you?”

I snap my head to quickly look at him before looking back down at my lap.

“I knew it,” he says. “Can you talk about it? What can I do?”

I’m glad that I don’t feel like crying. I feel numb more than anything, like I just want to forget that it happened. If I pretend it never happened, I can just go about my day as normal.

“Don’t make it a big deal,” I say. “I’m going to tell you, then can we go to Starbucks? I just want my chai.”

“Okay,” he says, with a slight smile. “I can get you your chai.”

“And I have the CD review for you,” I say. “I finished listening last night.”

He perks up. “I can’t wait for that,” he says.

I sigh. “I accidentally knocked Callie down in gym today, it was stupid. It was an accident. Then she cornered me after class and ripped my shirt.” He looks for the rip just like Lexie had. “I got a new one since then,” I say.

He grits his teeth; I can see his cheeks move from it. I’m still staring ahead, but his eyes are heavy on me, and before I know it his arms are wrapped around my shoulders with one of his hands on the back of my head. I melt into him; it’s not such a new feeling anymore, we’ve hugged a few times now. I rest my cheek on his shoulder and stare at his neck.

“You already know what I think,” he says. “And one day they’re gonna get theirs.”

I nod against him and he strokes my hair. My heart is hammering so wildly that I’m sure he’s able to feel it, too. When we break apart, he tucks a curl behind my ear and I look right into his crystalline eyes. “Let’s go,” he says.

We’re sitting across from each other as usual at Starbucks, taking a break from his newest assignment, when I pull out the review and slide it across the table to him. It’s a little crinkled from being in my backpack, but still legible.

He looks away from his computer and his eyes light up. “Is this it?” he asks excitedly, and I nod. He greedily takes the paper and reads it, taking his time with each song review and laughing at some of them.

“Oh, you liked This Will Be Our Year, huh?” he asks. I nod again. “Knew you would.” He giggles. “Sarah Smiles, yeah… definitely.” His eyes are more than lit up now, they’re sparkling. “And Come On Eileen gets stuck in my head every damn time, too.” He sets the paper down. “I’m gonna like, frame this.”

“Don’t,” I say. “That’s so embarrassing. My handwriting is horrible.”

“Your handwriting is cute,” he says, glancing back down at it. “This is going up somewhere. That’s all I know.”

I shrug one shoulder bashfully and lace my fingers together on top of the table. “Hey, um,” he begins. “What are you doing this Friday night?”

I feel all the blood drain from my face. “Why?” I ask, trying to sound calm.

“Well, it’s Halloween,” he says.

A sense of urgency appears in my gut and makes me feel like I’m going to throw up. “I… I don’t really celebrate,” I say. “Sometimes I volunteer at my church, we do a food drive. I don’t know if I’m… I’m doing that this year or not - I haven’t talked to anyone… I don’t really do anything for Halloween other than that. At all. I’m not allowed to.”

His smile curves upwards on one side. “Are you allowed to come hang out with me at my house?” he asks. “I hate Halloween. I always just stay in and watch movies, usually alone. But I’d like if I wasn’t alone this year. You know, if you were there. Just hanging out. With me.”

I sip my chai to stall my answer, and suddenly become very interested in the lid. There’s nothing I want more than to spend more time with him, but this doesn’t feel real. It feels like there has to be a catch somewhere.

“Jackson, I - I don’t know…” I trail off, clutching my cup tightly.

“Okay,” he says, and his tone has a lilt to it that shows up sometimes. “Here’s what we’ll do. Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t like me. Then I won’t ask stuff like this ever again.”

I stop breathing. My mouth gapes open, but no sound comes out. I practically drop my cup to the floor, but to savor the drink, I don’t.

“I… that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I stammer.

“Look at me,” he says. “Say you don’t like me, and I’ll stop.”

I take in a short breath and hear it waver in my chest. We meet eyes for a long time; I can’t do it. I can’t tell him that, and he knows it.

But what comes next?

“That’s what I thought,” he says softly, with a kind smile. “Because, for your information, I happen to really like you, too.”

My body is feeling so many different things; there are so many different thoughts whizzing through my head that I can’t begin to pick out a single one.

“Really?” I ask, my voice at a near-whisper. He nods.

“So will you hang out with me on Friday?” he asks. “Don’t leave me hanging. I already feel like an ass, I don’t think I could deal with rejection right now.”

It doesn’t even cross my mind that I’ll have to think up a lie to tell my parents; actually, nothing crosses my mind besides the fact that I’ll be with Jackson, not doing school stuff, hanging out. Alone.

“Sure,” I say. “Friday.”

\---

On Friday morning, I’m practically exploding with nerves as I meet my mom in the kitchen. It’s a gloomy, gray day outside - perfect for Halloween - and I’m about to tell my first big lie.

“Mom,” I say, and clear my throat to make my voice sound stronger. She turns around from where she stands at the kitchen sink. “I - I know that I usually help out at church on Halloween, but… would it be okay if I went and watched movies at Lexie’s tonight with her and Arizona?” I open my mouth to say more, but know that that will lead to rambling. Short and sweet is better. Plus, it’s like a half-lie. I am watching movies, just not with them.

“Oh,” she says, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Yeah, sure, honey. That’s fine. You help out so much, you deserve it.”

A huge weight is lifted off of me. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m not gonna spend the night or anything. Just a couple movies. Then home.”

“Okay, sounds good,” she says, and I start to walk towards the door to meet my sisters outside. “And April, remember!” I turn back to look at her. “No horror.”

“Right,” I say, and give her a wave. “Bye, mom.”

Throughout the school day, I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I want to tell Lexie what I’m doing, but we haven’t been on great terms since earlier this week when we got into that mini-fight. We’re still speaking, but not like usual. I’m not sure when it’ll blow over, but now isn’t the right time to gush about Jackson. She’s the only person who I want to tell. If I blab to Arizona, the whole school will know. So I keep it to myself.

Later, Jackson and I barely work on his paper; I think we’re both a little on edge. It’s like there’s an elephant in the room and neither of us are talking about it. Yesterday, I told him that I liked him and he said he likes me _back_. That’s not small. For me, that’s actually huge.

While he reads problem parts of his paper out loud, I can’t stop staring at his face. I know he notices, too, because he smiles during places that aren’t funny. I can’t stop, though. The hour seems to drag by, but once it’s finally 5 o’clock, I wish that it wasn’t. How bad would it be for me to cancel on this thing and run home as fast as I can?

“Just a question,” he says as we walk to his apartment. The sun is already setting, even though it’s barely past 5. “I’ve been wondering this. Do you own normal clothes?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “These are normal clothes.”

He looks at my uniform and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, for a junior nun.”

“Maybe I am a junior nun,” I say.

“You?” He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Hey,” I say, and smack his arm.

“I mean normal like, normal. Jeans. T-shirts. Leggings, I don’t know. The shit girls wear.”

“My mom would die if I wore leggings,” I say.

“What are you gonna do next year when Mommy isn’t around to police you?” he asks lightheartedly. “Well, you won’t be that far away. She’ll probably still police you.”

I give him a look. “One, shut up. Two, you’re not wrong.”

We both laugh and make our way into his apartment. My nervous feeling is back as he throws his stuff on the ground and motions for me to do the same. I gently set my backpack down by the door and he walks into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “I have some Halloweeny-type food, I guess. A half-eaten caramel apple. Some candy corn. Leftover spaghetti?”

“I’m good,” I say, because I don’t think I could eat right now. My stomach is way too nervous. I think if I ate anything, I’d probably throw it up, and I really don’t want that to happen.

“You sure?” he asks, coming around the corner.

“Yeah,” I say, and stand awkwardly in the middle of the room as he looks at a tower of DVDs that are stacked very precariously.

“So…” he says, kneeling down with a handful of candy corn in his fist. “I have Evil Dead, the new one. Way better than the old one. The Exorcist, a classic. The Mist, which is really good but the ending is fucked up. Let’s see, what else…”

I’m disobeying about 15 of my parents’ rules right now, but the one that’s sticking out most to me is _no horror_. Plus, I’ve never seen a horror movie before and I know it’ll scare me beyond belief.

“I’ve never seen a scary movie before,” I say, wringing my hands.

He looks back at me. “I figured,” he says. “I’m not that dumb. Also, you can take your shoes off. Make yourself at home, seriously. Sit. You’re freaking me out with the hovering.”

I smile to myself and kick my shoes off by the door, then go over and sit in the middle of the couch to watch him continue to try and decide. “Okay, so Poltergeist isn’t too scary,” he says. “Old ass special effects. I think you can handle it, and it’s also a classic. Does that sound okay?”

I shrug. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Cool.” He pops the DVD in and then comes to sit by me, his left arm resting on the armrest while the other one rests along the back of the couch behind me. As the beginning credits roll through, he turns his head to look at me. “Do your parents know you're here?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Huh?” I ask, playing innocent.

“They don't, do they?” he says, smiling and shaking his head.

“Well, um, they know I'm watching a movie…” I say. “But they think I'm at Lexie's until later.”

“So what you're telling me,” he says. “Is that tonight, you're a little rebel? Because of me?”

I giggle. “Kinda,” I say. “I guess.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

I turn to look at him, and his eyes steal the breath away from me. “Good,” I say breathily. “Really good.”

“Me, too,” he says, and looks back to the TV.

A few moments later, he moves his arm down from the back of the couch so it rests across the backs of my shoulders instead, with one of his hands on my opposite arm. I press my chin to my chest and feel the blush creep up my cheeks, right on cue.

I hear Jackson chuckle, so I press the backs of my palms to my cheeks in attempt to cool them down. “Oh, does that make you blush?” he asks, his voice rising in pitch. “Wow…”

I ignore him with an uncontrollable grin plastered on my face.

“How about this,” he says, unwinding his arm from around me and using that same hand to grip mine. He rubs his thumb over my skin, and the blush that I had forced away before returns with a vengeance.

I still can't stop smiling. I open my mouth just to close it again. I don't want him to stop.

“How about this?” he asks again, and lets go of my fingers to place his hand on my thigh.

I gasp, and electricity jolts up my entire body to make every hair I have stand on end. I feel myself start to breathe harder; my heart might just beat out of my chest if he's not careful. His hand is on my skirt. No one’s hand has ever been that high before, and my face is on fire.

“Or this…” he says, and uses his free hand to cup my jaw and draw my face closer to his. I've never been this close to another person before. Ever. In my life. I'm breathing his air and he's breathing mine, and I can feel his wild pulse through his wrist. “April, can I kiss you?” he asks.

"I've never kissed anyone before," I breathe.

"Do you wanna try it out on me?" he asks, the tip of his nose touching mine. 

I nod. There's no way I'm able to form any more words.

When our lips touch, I don't think about the YouTube video “best kisses of all time.” I don't think about the bullies at school, my best friends, my parents, or God.

All I think about is Jackson. One of his hands on my thigh, grip tightening slightly as he leans into me, and the other one framing my face. I think about the way his subtle stubble feels grazing my cheeks, and the way his nose presses softly against my own. I don't wonder if I know what I'm doing. For the first time in my life, I let myself be.

I let myself experience him for all that he is.

When we pull apart, it feels like time has stopped. I'm breathing heavily, chest heaving, as I stare into his face. I wonder if I look as bewildered as he does right now.

I come to the conclusion that I probably do.

We spend a moment just watching each other, gauging what the other will do next, as our chests heave with excitement. His eyes dart down to my mouth and then back up to my eyes, and I feel myself give him a subtle nod.

He takes my face in both hands and kisses me again, and it's different this time. His lips move against mine and I follow his cues, and I think I'm doing something right when I hear him inhale sharply and then graze his hand down my torso to rest over my hip.

I involuntarily push up against him - I'm not sure what makes me do it, but I do. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat and opens his mouth against mine, and I can feel his eyelashes flutter against my cheeks as I hold the back of his neck in my palms.

In the next moment, he dips his head beneath my jaw and presses his lips to my neck, which causes me to whimper softly and lean my head to one side so he can reach more skin.

I never knew that neck kisses could feel so good. I never knew _any_ of this could feel so good. Right now, my body is feeling things I don't recognize. There's a tightness between my legs that is new to me but not entirely unwelcome. I'm not sure what to make of it, but I can't spend a lot of time dwelling on it because I get distracted with one of Jackson’s hands undoing the middle button of my blazer and then venturing lower to try and untuck my white blouse.

I pull away. “Wait, wait, I-” I stammer, and he pulls back, too.

He looks embarrassed, which was the last thing I expected. “I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says insistently. “I didn't mean to - it got away from me… I got caught up. I… I don't wanna do that.” He looks at me, his eyes sober. “I don't.”

“Okay,” I breathe.

“I'm never gonna pressure you to do something you're not ready for,” he tells me.

“Okay,” I say again, smiling as I whisper.

“I just…” he trails off. “I really like kissing you.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and bite my lower lip, then say, “I really like kissing you, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

I can barely hear the movie playing in the background anymore, and in all honesty I don’t really care to. I can feel my heartbeat everywhere in my body, and I don’t want this feeling to stop anytime soon. 

He likes kissing me. He  _ really _ likes kissing me; he just said so himself. 

“Can we keep…?” I ask cautiously, pulling one leg up from the floor to tuck it underneath me. 

“Oh, you want to do... more?” he asks, his forehead crinkling with confusion. “I didn’t know, I thought - yeah, of course. Like, geez, yes, of course.” 

I shyly tuck my hair behind my ears and wait for him to come to me, which he does. He presses his lips gently to mine again and uses one hand to pull my hair out of its loose ponytail, and once it’s fanned out around my shoulders, he weaves his fingers through it. 

I keep one hand on his collar, and my pointer finger is resting right against his pulse point which is beating like crazy. I smile against his lips as I take comfort in the fact that I’m not the only one freaking out about this; he just hides it better. 

I lean closer, take a leap of faith, and open my mouth against his. I open my eyes to see how he’s received it, and his are still closed as he kisses me. I feel a blooming sense of pride in my chest and a boosted sense of confidence to keep doing what I’m doing. I’ve never kissed anyone before, no less like this, and he’s a college boy with plenty of experience - and  _ he _ likes  _ me _ . 

He moves his hand to rest on the underside of my knee, pulling my right leg closer to him. “Is this okay?” he murmurs against my lips, and I nod fervently. The tight feeling between my thighs is back, and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t necessarily want it to go away, but it feels like there’s something that needs to be done about it. 

We don’t get sex education at school. We get taught abstinence, so I have no idea what any of these feelings mean. 

He keeps his hand on my leg but doesn’t go any higher. I want him to, I can’t believe that I want him to, but I also know that I’m way too scared. I skim my hands over the sturdy muscles of his chest and he moves down to kiss my neck again, and my eyes rocket to the ceiling as my breath hitches in my throat. Suddenly, I’m so hot that I’m sweating, and the fabric of my blazer isn’t helping at all. 

“I’m just gonna…” I say, and reach down to undo the button, then slide it off of my shoulders and over the arm of the couch. “I’m just hot. I’m not…” I shake my head and giggle. “I’m hot, that’s all,” I say. 

“I know you are,” he says, and wraps his arms around my waist to pull me closer. 

I squeal a little bit and let him. He slides me halfway onto his lap, one leg strewn over both of his, and kisses my ear. I start to laugh even as I try to force myself to stop, and he pulls away in confusion. “What’s so funny?” he asks, keeping a hold on me with his hands linked together at the small of my back. 

“I’m ticklish there,” I say, and crinkle my neck when he tries to go for my ears again. “Stop!” 

“What? Stop what?” he asks, blowing air into my ear and then pressing his lips to the shell of it. “I can’t hear you. I’m too busy making fun of my girl’s ticklish ears.” 

I practically plummet to the floor when I hear him say the words ‘my girl.’ I go somewhat limp, and then fall easily to lie down on the couch as Jackson continues to tickle my ears and neck. 

“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” I say, and shove him away to stop tickling me. We share a moment just staring at each other; I’m lying flat now with my head on a square pillow, legs parted just enough so he can rest in between them, his body weight pressing down on my torso. This closeness should scare me off, should make me feel like a sinner, but the horrible part is that… it doesn’t. 

I bend my right leg so my foot is flat on the couch, and then lean my knee in towards him. He runs one hand down the bare skin of my arm and kisses my jaw, nudging me with his nose so I’ll tip my head up. “Tell me when to stop…” he murmurs. “And I’ll stop.” 

“I don’t want you to stop,” I say, running my hands over his hair. 

“Good,” he says, and lays a hand on my ribcage. 

I never expected my first kiss would be like this. With a college boy who treats me like I matter, number one, and number two, a kiss that turned into a makeout session on his couch while the movie Poltergeist plays in the background. This is not the me that I knew. This is a totally different girl, but I think I like her. 

I like her, but I don’t know her. 

As he continues to kiss me, he moves his hand from my ribcage down lower. I’m tilted on my side slightly, so he has just enough leeway to first rest his hand benignly over my butt, but then grab a generous handful of it. I take a sharp intake of breath and involuntarily jerk my hips against his, which makes him jolt and then sit up very suddenly. 

“What is it?” I ask breathlessly. His lips are red and puffy. I touch mine to see if they feel different, and admittedly they’re a bit sore.

He stares ahead at the TV, which is showing a wide scene of a cemetery. I glance at it, too, then look back to him. Right now, I don’t want to look at anything else but him. 

“I...um,” he stammers, folding and refolding his hands in his lap. “Uh…” He raises his eyebrows and presses his lips together so they turn into a flat line.

“What?” I ask again. 

“I can’t… um, keep going,” he says. “I have a hard-on, so I just kind of have to sit here for a little bit.” 

My face floods with color and I direct my eyes up at the ceiling instead of at his crotch, which is where they wanted to go initially. I feel a giggle coming on, but I do my best to stifle it. 

“I hear you laughing,” he says grumpily. “Shut up.” 

My face breaks in a wide grin. “What?”

“It’s not funny,” he says. 

“Not funny at all,” I say, pressing my palms to my cheeks as I look at him. “Whatsoever. So totally not funny.” 

“I hope you’re glad that I’m incapacitated and can’t get you for that,” he says.

I snort and then grab my blazer from over the arm of the couch, pulling it back on slowly as I try to avoid the TV screen. It takes him a while to recover, so long, in fact, that the movie ends and it’s time for me to leave. It’ll be 9 soon, and on nights where I don’t sleep over at someone’s house, that’s when I have to be home. 

It’s dark out and of course, still Halloween, so Jackson puts on his shoes and coat to call me an Uber and wait outside with me. 

“You don’t have to,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. It’s gotten pretty chilly outside, especially with the sun gone. 

“You’re not taking the train on Halloween night,” he says. “I don’t care what you say. It’s not safe.” 

I grumble to myself but ultimately say, “Okay, fine.” 

When the car pulls up, I let my eyes dart over to Jackson a few times to gauge how we’re going to say goodbye. He waves at the driver, who pulls right up to the curb, and then Jackson turns towards me. 

“I really liked tonight,” I say, rocking back and forth my tiptoes. 

He reaches up and strokes my cheekbone with his thumb. “Same here,” he says, then cups my jaw as he gives me a kiss goodbye. “See you Monday?” 

I open the back door of the car, heart fluttering uncontrollably. “See you then,” I say, and then get inside and buckle up. 

He motions for me to roll the window down, so I do. “Text me when you get home safe,” he says. 

“Okay,” I say, eyes glinting. “I will.” 

I’m buzzing the entire Uber ride home. I feel like I’m physically sparkling. But at the same time, I can’t believe what just happened or that I was any part of it. 

The car pulls up in front of my house about twenty minutes later and I thank the driver and get out. I straighten my appearance, put my hair back up in its ponytail, and then walk through the front door like I didn’t just spend an hour making out with Jackson Avery. 

“Hi, honey,” Dad says, coming from around the corner. He was definitely standing in front of the picture window watching me come in, and my stomach drops to the floor. “Home right on time.” 

“Uh-huh,” I say, taking my fall jacket off and hanging it up on the hook. I skim my hands over my clothes as inconspicuously as I can to make sure they’re sitting right, and luckily it seems like they are. 

“Who was that car that dropped you off?” he asks. “I don’t remember Meredith’s car looking like that.” 

“Oh, that?” I ask, kicking my shoes off to buy myself some time. “It wasn’t Meredith’s. It was Cristina, Meredith’s best friend. She was on her way home, too, so she just dropped me off on the way.” 

“Oh,” he says, and gives me a side hug. “Makes sense. That was nice of her.” 

“Yeah,” I say, and stand in the hallway awkwardly. There’s nothing I want more than to get out of this predicament and up into my room where I can replay every single detail of what I just lived through. “Well, I’m really tired,” I say. 

“Aren’t you wondering how the food drive went tonight?” he asks. “I could make us some hot cocoa, tell you everything. You always like to hear about it. Mrs. Robbins and Arizona were there.” 

I will my eyes not to widen with shock. “Really?” I ask, keeping my voice even. “Did you, uh, did you talk to them?” 

“Briefly,” he says, nodding. “Didn’t get much time to. It was really busy tonight, we could’ve used you.”

“Oh,” I say. “I… yeah, I don’t know.” 

“I know you deserve some time off, too, though,” he says, smiling. “How was the movie at Lexie’s?” 

“Good,” I say, and find myself running my fingers over the corners of the tiny cross around my neck.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry _ , I repeat over and over again in my head. 

“No horror, I hope,” he says. 

“Oh, no,” I say, laughing.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  _

“Good,” he says. “Well, I can tell that you’re tired. So I won’t make you stay for hot cocoa with your old man.” 

I chuckle a little. “Okay, dad,” I say. “Good night.” 

After giving him another hug, I hurry up to my room and change out of my uniform. As I take my button-up blouse off, I notice that it smells differently than normal. I press the fabric to my nose and have to sit down on my bed because I’m so overcome - it smells just faintly like Jackson. 

I keep it close to my pillow when I lay down and pull out my phone. I see that I’ve already gotten a text from him from five minutes ago. 

**RECEIVED: 9:07pm-** you make it home?? 

**SENT: 9:12pm-** yes :) safe and sound. 

**RECEIVED: 9:12pm-** good. how were ur parents? 

**SENT: 9:13pm-** fine since i made it home by curfew… 

**RECEIVED: 9:13pm-** what did you tell them??

**SENT: 9:14pm-** what i told you. The movie at lexies was good, and i didnt watch horror. :P 

**RECEIVED: 9:15pm-** well at least you didnt tell a total lie

**SENT: 9:15pm-** what do you mean? 

**RECEIVED: 9:16pm-** you honestly didnt do very much watching, you can say you didnt watch horror and not lie ;) 

I press my phone against my chest so the light disappears and then cover my face with my hands. I kick my legs under my covers and squeal a little bit, unable to keep my excitement at bay. 

“April?” My door creaks open and my mom appears in the light from the hallway. “Oh, hi, sweetie. I just wanted to make sure you were home.” 

I have a smile left over on my face from seconds before. “Oh,” I say. “Yeah, I got in right before 9. Me and Daddy talked.” 

She comes over and sits on the edge of my bed. “Good,” she says. “He tell you we missed you tonight?” I nod, and she combs my hair back from my face. “But I told him that he should be happy you had a break. You deserve it, did he tell you that, too?” I nod again, and she kisses my forehead. “I love you, Duckie. Don’t forget to say your prayers.” 

“I won’t,” I say, smiling sweetly. 

Her eyes dart to the phone face-down on my chest. “You know no phones in bed,” she says. “Who are you texting this late, anyway?” 

“Oh, um…” I say, and shift so my phone falls down onto the mattress and more out of sight. “Just Arizona.” 

“Oh, we saw her tonight!” Mom says. 

“She said that,” I say, my voice low. I can’t keep adding lies onto more lies. It doesn’t feel good. But telling the truth as the alternative is no good, either, I know that for sure. And my secret is too sweet to give up anytime soon.

Mom looks at me for a moment and then gives me another kiss on the head. “Sleep well, sweetheart. See you in the morning, we’re going into church early to set up for youth group.” 

“I’ll be there,” I say, and then watch her as she leaves. I open my phone back up to see that he’s texted me over and over again in the three minutes that my mom was in here. 

**RECEIVED: 9:17pm-** i mean i know at least i didnt do much watching thats for sure

**RECEIVED: 9:18pm-** were you secretly watching the movie the whole time and just pretending to enjoy urself? If so catch me crying no im fine i swear 

**RECEIVED: 9:19pm-** i see how it is. Ditched. Dumped to the curb no its ok……….

**SENT: 9:20pm-** geez mr. clingy, doesnt let me talk to my mom for a whole two seconds!!!!!

**RECEIVED: 9:20pm-** there you are. Thought you left me high and dry

**SENT: 9:21pm-** if youre not careful, i might. 

**RECEIVED: 9:21pm-** im not worried. You liked kissing me too much ;) 

**SENT: 9:22pm-** if i remember right, youre the one who said you liked kissing me FIRST. 

**RECEIVED: 9:22pm-** touche 

I scroll up through our texts and then go back down to the bottom, still in disbelief that this is happening to me. 

**SENT: 9:24pm-** i have church early tomorrow. I have to go to sleep…

**RECEIVED: 9:24pm-** sigh. Ok. goodnight sleeping beauty ;) 

I send him a goodnight back and then plug my phone in, resting it on my nightstand for while I’m sleeping. I turn on my side, tuck my knees up my my chest, and then run my fingers over my lips. I can still remember the way that his felt against mine, moving fluidly and like he wanted to memorize every single thing about me. I move one of my hands out from under my pillow and rest it on my ribcage just so I can trick myself that back on Jackson’s couch and it’s his hand instead of my own. I do my best pretending as I close my eyes, and fall asleep playing back everything that happened to me tonight. 

\---

On Monday, Callie Torres doesn’t show up to school. I don’t know if it’s because she’s suspended or because she just didn’t feel like coming, but it’s a relief either way. I have a renewed sense of calmness about me as I walk through the hallways and know that no one is going to be waiting to ambush me around any given corner. 

On my way to the main doors after school lets out, I see Lexie hanging out on the staircase with Mark. Arizona is usually with them, but I heard through her mom on Saturday morning that she just got a part time job at IHOP, so her after-school hours are cut short just like mine are. I hover at the end of the senior hallway, watching my best friend and her boyfriend, and chastise myself for feeling nervous. It’s Lexie. I shouldn’t feel nervous about going to talk to her; we’ve known each other for pretty much our whole lives. She knows everything about me - well, almost everything. 

That’s what I want to do; I want to catch her up. And I know a stupid little tiff that we had last week shouldn’t keep me from doing that. We saw each other briefly today, it’s hard not to when we almost have every class together, but we didn’t get a chance to really talk. 

I saunter up to the stairs and rest my hand on the railing, and she catches my eye. “Hey, Apes,” she says, then glances up to Mark with her eyebrows raised. 

“I know when I’m not wanted,” he says, palms up. He gives me a short nod of his head. “Kepner.” 

“Hi, Mark,” I say, and wave at him.  

“I’ll wait in the car,” he tells Lexie, and then heads out the front doors. 

“I owe you an apology,” Lexie says, after Mark walks away. “And don’t you try to say sorry. Because I was super pushy, and like, yeah, I was defending you, but … you didn’t deserve to have me getting mad at you. It was pretty dumb. And I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” I say, and my chest feels lighter. “It’s okay.” 

“I just hate what those…” She shakes her head and meets my eyes. “It’s over now. We can cross that bridge when we get to it, right?” 

“Yeah,” I say, and nod a little bit. “I… um, I have something to tell you,” I say, glancing up at the clock. 

“Don’t you have to go?” she asks. 

“It’s okay,” I say, sitting down on the step next to her. “I want to talk to you. I really… I missed you, and I have something big to catch you up on.” 

Her eyes widen. “Well, tell!” she says excitedly. 

I knock my knees together and then adjust my tights. The weather is getting colder, it’s November now, so instead of knee socks I’ve switched to black tights. 

I lean forward to cup my hands around her ear. “Jackson kissed me,” I whisper, and then pull back when she gasps dramatically. 

“April Mary Kepner…” she says, her lips curling up and her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Tell me  _ everything _ .” 

I bite my lower lip and can barely keep my enthusiasm at bay. “I, um, well, I… also may have lied to my parents and told them that I was over at your house on Halloween night…” 

“Oh, my god, this is too much,” Lexie says. “Lying and kissing all in one night. Holy shit, I can’t believe this.” I giggle and watch her as she continues to freak out for me. “Okay, okay, so tell!” she insists. 

“Well, I went over to his apartment on Friday night,” I begin. “And he put in some random scary movie, I don’t even remember which one it was. We barely watched it.” 

“Holy shit.” 

“And like… he had his arm around the back of the couch, and he moved it down to my shoulder. And he noticed that, of course, it made me blush.” Just recalling the memory makes my heart speed up and the color come back to my cheeks; it’s so exciting to say out loud. I haven’t gotten to tell anyone else. “And then he held my hand, and then he put his hand on my thigh...” 

Her eyes get even bigger, if that’s possible. “Your _ thigh _ ?” she gasps. 

I nod vigorously. “And then he held my face, like, you know, kinda like this…” I cup my jaw with my own hand. “And asked if he could kiss me.” 

Lexie claps both hands over her mouth. “He asked,” she mutters. I nod again. “And you said yes, obviously.” 

“Yeah,” I say, unable to stop giggling. “And um, then we kind of, I don’t know… I mean, I guess you could say we made out?” 

She throws her head back and groans upward at the ceiling, then pounds her fists on her legs. “Oh, my god, April Kepner! You made out with a boy.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” I say urgently. “No one knows. I’m only telling you.” 

“You made out with a boy,” she repeats in a whisper. 

“I know,” I whisper back. “And like… oh, my goodness, Lex. It was so much.” 

“How did it feel?”

I look at her long and hard. “Amazing,” I admit. “It made me feel like, so many things. I don’t even know what I was feeling, honestly.” I shake my head and stare at my shoes, then wipe a little scuff off with my thumb. “It made my stomach feel all funny. I feel stupid asking. I wouldn’t ask anyone else, don’t make fun of me. But… what  _ was _ that?” I ask. “My lower stomach. Like… around this area.” I gesture in a wide circle around my lap area. 

She exhales a short puff of air out of her nose. “April,” she says, leaning closer to me so I can hear her. “He was turning you on.” 

I furrow my eyebrows together with an alarmed expression on my face. “What?” I hiss. 

“Making out with him was turning you on,” she says again.  

“No,” I say, shaking my head slowly. 

“Yes…” she counters. “God, I don’t know how to explain it. That tight feeling down...there? That you felt? That’s your body telling you that you want him. It’s a sexual feeling.” 

“I don’t have those,” I say. 

“Well, I think you do,” she says. “Now you do, at least.” 

I feel betrayed by my own body. I had no idea I was capable of feeling such things, but it does make sense. When I felt that thing, it seemed like the only thing that would make it go away was friction. And from what I do know, friction is a big part of … the deed. 

“Hey, guys!” I hear a peppy voice coming down the stairs, and look to my right to see my little sister, Alice. “Duckie, are you off today?” 

I look at the clock. I should’ve left a few minutes ago. “No,” I say. “I was just leaving. I have to go.” I give Lexie an amused, flabbergasted stare. “I’ll see you later.” 

I don’t stop thinking about what she said until I’m forced to - when I see Jackson waiting outside Arts & Letters with a cup in one hand. He looks up just in time to make eye contact with me, and I speed up a little so I can reach him faster.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says, and hands me the   cup. I take it from him and pull my lower lip into my mouth, worrying it with my teeth as I try and gauge what he’s going to do next. Before I have any more time to contemplate, he swoops in and gives me a kiss on the cheek - lingering for a few seconds longer than a quick peck. My face gets hot, which is no surprise, and he pushes my hair behind my shoulder so he can rest his hand there. 

No boy has ever called me beautiful before, and I don’t know how to accept it. “Hi,” I peep, and take a short sip of my chai. 

“How was your weekend?” he asks, sitting down on a low pillar. I stay standing across from him; I want to be closer, but I’m not sure how. I’m not sure what I’m allowed to do in such a public space as this, it feels so out in the open and unsafe. I don’t know anyone else who goes to DePaul, but people seeing us seems wrong. “How was church?” 

“Good,” I say, kicking my shoe against the bottom of the cement where he’s sitting. 

“What did you do there?” he asks, reaching out to take my free hand and hold it in his own. While still looking at my face, he spreads my fingers apart and just messes with them while we talk. 

“Hmm?” 

“What did you do there?” he repeats. 

I furrow my eyebrows a bit. “You actually wanna know what I did at church?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “That’s why I asked.” 

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “People don’t usually - like, oh. So.. I - sorry, you caught me off guard. At church, on Saturdays I help out with youth group. I used to go to it, but now I’m more of a leader. Kind of like a junior leader, I guess. I help the actual leaders like, put together the lessons and games and all that, and help welcome new members when we have them.” 

“I bet you’re good at that,” he says. 

My mouth turns down in a bashful smile. “I don’t know, I guess,” I say. 

“And on Sundays?” 

I take a step closer to him so our knees are touching. “Just regular Mass,” I say. “My whole family goes and listens to the sermon and then there’s kind of a brunch thing afterwards. We didn’t stay this time, though, because me and my sisters had a lot of homework to do. It was kind of crazy.” 

There’s a short beat of silence between us where we just communicate with our eyes. His are warm and inviting, and I’m sure mine are sparkling beyond belief. I’m the happiest right now since Friday when I saw him last. “How was your weekend?” I ask.

He keeps a hold on my hand, tracing my knuckles with the pads of his fingers. “It was good,” he says. “I did a lot of homework, too.” 

“That’s good to hear.” 

“I’m capable,” he says, grinning. “Somewhat, without you.” 

“Hmm… doubtful,” I say. “What else did you do?” 

“Oh…” he trails off, then sighs. “Thought about you. A lot.” 

My smile is about to break my face in two. I’m worried I look like some sort of insane, rabid animal from how much I’m flashing my teeth. “You did?” I ask shyly. 

“Yeah,” he says, letting go of my hand to draw me closer by my waist. Now, with him still sitting and me standing, he can easily rest his arms around the small of my back as I look down into his face. “I thought about texting you, but I didn’t want to blow up your phone.” 

“You could’ve,” I say. 

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” he says. “You’re so busy with church, school, your sisters…” 

I scoff. “My sisters.” 

“Well, you have like, a million of them,” he says. 

“Three,” I correct. “And Libby goes to Ohio State. Only Kimmie and Alice still live at home, and they have better things to do than worry about who’s texting me.” 

“You don’t have to keep saying their names, you know,” he says, and I can feel him running the fabric of my shirt between his fingers behind my back. “I remember things about you.” 

He squeezes his knees just slightly inwards against mine as I stand between his legs, and we spend a moment just looking at each other and drinking in each other’s presence. My mind is so foggy right now; I’ve never felt this way before. I feel like, if I was the kind of person to do drugs, this is what it would feel like. 

“Do you wanna study at my place today?” he asks. “Since you kinda made yourself at home there last time, I don’t know, I figured you’d be comfortable enough to go there again today.” 

I nod and he pulls on my hips so they sway closer. “Yeah, that sounds good,” I say, and he runs his hands down the outsides of my legs. “Where’re your socks?” he asks, looking down. 

I take a step back and look down at my legs, too. “It’s too cold now,” I say. “I wear tights in the winter.” 

He stands up and we start walking side-by-side in the direction of his apartment. “Sucks for me,” he says slyly. 

My cheeks flame, but I turn away so he can’t see. 

“Your life is so hard being a redhead, isn’t it?” he asks. “You wear every single one of those emotions right on your face.” 

“Shut up, I know,” I say, hitching my backpack higher on my shoulders. “It’s a curse.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that.” 

“What, you like it when I blush like a maniac?” I ask. 

“Of course,” he says. “Then I know when what I say works and when it doesn’t. You’re the perfect sounding board.”

I sock him in the arm and he pretends to be hurt, rubbing it with a wounded expression on his face. 

When we get into his apartment, I take my shoes off and place them neatly by the door right next to my backpack. He glances around the room and his eyes catch on a pile of papers left on the table, then he says, “Shit. I was supposed to get this stuff done for organic chemistry earlier and I never finished. Got hungry.” I giggle. “Do you mind if I wrap it up real quick? It’ll be fast. I just have like, one more problem to do.” 

“Sure,” I say. 

“You can wander around, snoop, I don’t care.” 

“I’ll just sit,” I say, and rest on my knees on the couch. I look out the window for a second and then glance over after a long period of silence has passed to see him hunched over his papers, scribbling like mad on a problem that looks like runs down the entire sheet. I can’t help but smile to myself at his concentration - his tongue is sticking out from between his lips just slightly, his eyebrows knitted together very seriously - it makes warmth spread out through my whole body watching him do what he’s confident in. I know he’s smart, I always knew that - I can tell by the way his papers look when he really tries, but seeing him in his element is different. It’s like I’m seeing another side of him that I’ve never seen before: the scholar. 

I really want to bother him, but I know I shouldn’t. I just keep watching him; his facial expressions changing as he works his way through the difficult and easy parts of the equation, and when he finally finishes - the relief. 

“Finally,” he says, letting out a heavy breath. “Done.” He gets up from the table and sits down on the couch next to me. “Were you watching me, creep?”

“Maybe,” I say, and pull my legs out from under me so I’m eye-level with him. 

He smiles and takes my wrists into his hands. “You know what I really missed over the weekend?” he asks. 

“What’s that?” I ask softly. 

“Kissing you,” he says, watching my lips intently without even trying to hide the fact that he is. “I even thought about coming over to St. Ben’s neighborhood just so I could.” 

“I don’t think that would’ve worked out very well for you,” I say, inching closer to him. I wet my lips and feel my heart flutter with the prospect of kissing him again. 

“Anything that was gonna happen was totally worth it in my mind,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. 

“Luckily, you found some willpower,” I say, and he holds my jaw in one hand and strokes my cheekbone with his thumb. 

“Can’t say the same thing for right now,” he says. 

“Well, you don’t need it right now,” I say, and he kisses me. 

I see sparks right away when I close my eyes as he opens his mouth against mine. He rests one hand on my neck and the other on my hip, where he squeezes every now and again and makes that pulling feeling reappear in my lower belly. 

I move my hands from my own lap to rest in his, and it makes him jump. While still kissing me, he lifts my hands gently by the wrists off of his thighs and down to his knees, then says, “I can’t…” He laughs. “I don’t want a repeat of last time. If you put your hands there…” 

I realize what he means a second after he says it. “Oh - oh. Right, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, then pulls me closer. He rubs my leg over my tights up to the hem of my skirt, but doesn’t reach beneath it. Just like before, I’m glad that he doesn’t - but I think part of me wants him to. 

I take in a deep breath through my nose and tilt my head the opposite way suddenly, which makes both our foreheads and teeth bump together simultaneously with a loud ‘clack!’ We pull away from each other in surprise, and I touch my teeth with my fingers out of surprise. “I’m sorry…” I say, but he’s laughing. 

“It’s gonna happen,” he says. “You’re not bleeding, don’t worry about it. Am I?” I shake my head. “Then we’re good, we’re good.” He rubs his forehead. “Although I think you may have given me a concussion with that hard head of yours.” 

I screw my mouth up in a smile and then shove him by his shoulders to lay flat on the couch. “I’m not the one with the hard head,” I say, laughing. “You are.” 

“Oh, really?” he asks. “You have no proof.” 

“I don’t need any,” I say, sitting up by his bent knees. 

“You’re the one who smacked me, pinhead,” he says, then pulls me down so I’m resting between his body and the back of the couch. We both turn on our sides so we’re facing each other, and I keep my arms folded in between our chests without any better place to put them. 

He presses a cautious kiss to my lips and then gently takes one of my arms and drapes it over his side, where I gladly keep it. I take a chance and run my fingertips slowly up between his shoulder blades and then back down, and I even touch the small sliver of bare skin that’s become uncovered by the flipped-up hem of his shirt. 

As I do so, I feel his tongue in my mouth and I get flustered and pull back a little. “Shit - sorry,” he says, pulling back too. “Were you not ready? I didn’t know, I - Jesus, that was my bad. You’re just so…” He rolls his eyes at himself. 

“I liked it,” I say. “I just don’t know how.” 

His eyes practically smolder. “Oh,” he says. “Well, I can change that.” He slowly presses his mouth against mine and I try and follow his lead as best I can, just like I’ve been doing up until this point. I feel one of his legs rest over mine and his heel curls around the back of my ankle to keep me close. My heart is beating everywhere in my body - I feel like I’m throbbing - when he slips his tongue into my mouth again. 

Admittedly, I’m not sure what to do with it. It’s a weird sensation at first, but not unwelcome at all. I let it stay, and then gather my courage and return the favor. He knows just what to do with mine, and that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I hope I’ll get used to it. I want to be able to make him feel what he makes me feel, even if that day might not be today. 

Time doesn’t exist when I’m wrapped up in him, and the only thing that brings me back to earth is the sound of my phone chiming with my mom’s text tone. I gasp and pull apart from him, but our hands don’t move away from each other; mine is still draped over his side and his is still gently resting over my butt, which I’ve grown to like. It seems to be his number one choice on where to put it. 

I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it’s 5:17pm. “Oh, gosh,” I say, and push myself up into a sitting position. “I have to go. I have to…” He lets me up by pulling his leg off of mine. “We didn’t work. We didn’t do anything, I didn’t even look at your new assignment.” 

He laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s okay,” he says. “We have tomorrow. And all of this week. So what we didn’t do any work? It’s only Monday.” 

I shake my head as I put my shoes back on. “That was bad…” I say. 

“Then your bad and my bad must be two very different things,” he says with a chuckle. 

I look up at him through my eyelashes. “Tomorrow, we’re working,” I say firmly. 

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Bossy.” 

I put my coat on and replace my backpack on my shoulders. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “For study time.” 

“Study time,” he says, glancing down at my mouth. 

“Yes,” I say, then walk out the door. 

I’m only about three feet out before I turn on my heel and go back in, where I see he’s still waiting. “That’s what I thought,” he says under his breath, and then holds me around the waist to pull me close. He kisses me once, and we break apart only to lean right back in and kiss two more times before I finally force myself away from him. 

“Okay,” I say. “For real. Going this time.” 

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Text me when you get home.” 

I shoot him a look and a smile over my shoulder. “I will,” I say, then head down the stairs back out into the real world. 


	6. Chapter 6

I spend the rest of that week gathering writing resources for Jackson from my personal collection, Ms. Montgomery, and the high school library. By Monday, I have a whole arsenal of useful documents that can help him keep on the upward trend with his papers. 

We’ve taken to meeting at his place now. It’s the second week in November and too cold for the quad; and anyway, his finals are coming up. All of his work is at his place and it’s just easier this way. What we’re working on right now is his final paper, which holds a heavy percentage of his grade for the entire class. I can tell it’s stressing him out even though he tries to hide it, so I want to do whatever I can to help him do his best. 

“I miss the days when you would read to me,” he says, looking through the sheets of paper I’ve brought. “All this outline shit is for the birds.” 

“Birds who get As,” I say, adjusting my sweater as I sit down at the table next to him. “I know you care about this. It won’t be that bad, I promise.”

He groans a little. “Yeah, yeah, I care about it,” he says. “But I care more about whatever perfume you’re wearing.” 

My mouth turns down in a surprised grin. I had dug around in Libby’s old drawers this morning and found some tester bottles of perfume that she’d apparently stowed away before moving out and tried one on. I never thought he’d actually notice. “Stop,” I warn, then point down to the paper. “Homework.” 

He sighs and drops his chin to rest in his palm. “How about I work for a half hour, then I get you?” 

“You don’t make the rules,” I say, pulling the paper closer so I can look at it. “We’re making an outline today, no matter how long it takes.” He pulls the paper from me and then haphazardly rips a sheet from his notebook to start writing. “And no rushing,” I say. “It’s not worth it if it’s bad.” 

The final paper is for his Brit Lit class - the one we’ve been working together on all quarter. His topic focuses on writing about the women of Shakespeare and how they were one of the first to be portrayed in a positive light in the medieval times. The topic was, of course, pushed by me. The women of Shakespeare have been my favorite for a long time. 

“Just break up the outline by the plays you’ll focus on,” I say. “Take it a step at a time. And from there, break it down with the topics you’re going to hit. And once you actually sit down to write it, it’ll be so easy. It’ll be like you already did it.” 

He nods, and in his choppy, scratchy handwriting, writes down “Macbeath” at the top of the page with a line underneath it. 

“No A,” I say softly. 

“What?” 

“There’s no A in Macbeth,” I say, pointing at the word. 

“Oh, what the hell,” he says, and erases it sloppily. Without bothering to move the eraser shavings away, he tries again and writes “Macdeath,” then looks up at me mockingly. 

“You're dumb,” I say, then take the pencil from him, erase his joke and write “Macbeth” for him. 

“See, look at your pretty handwriting,” he says. “I vote you just write this whole thing.” 

“In your dreams,” I say. 

He takes the pencil back. “Speaking of my dreams,” he says, writing the title with the correct spelling. “I had some wild ones last night.” 

“I’d love to hear about them after you finish what I assigned you,” I say. 

He keeps writing as he talks, somehow multitasking perfectly. “Of course you were in it,” he says. “But the best part was, you weren’t forcing me to do my schoolwork. And even better than that, you weren’t-” 

“Stop, stop, stop,” I say, warmth flooding my cheeks. “Okay. I have some stuff I need to work on, too, so here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re going to have thirty whole minutes where we don’t talk. Nothing. Not at all.” 

“What happens if I do?” 

“I… I’ll figure it out. Something bad.” 

“Ooh…” 

“Jackson.” 

“Okay, okay,” he acquiesces. “Start the clock, dictator.” 

We work well in silence alongside one another for at least twenty whole minutes before he can’t handle it anymore. We’re sitting right next to each other, and as I’m finishing a Punnett square I feel his hand on my thigh. I look over at him with wide eyes to see that his gaze is still directed at his paper as his free hand continues to write and his other hand is resting very high up on my leg. 

I shift my attention back to my homework until I feel his fingers start to move. They’re closer to the center of me than they’ve gotten thus far, and I don’t want to move them away but I know I should. The temptation is almost too much for me to handle, but I force myself to think of anything that will get my mind out of the gutter. My grandma, my priest, God Himself. 

I scoot my leg away. 

I hear a small puff of air escape his nose, and he moves his hand back - but this time, just to rest on my knee, which is okay. When the timer goes off, I’ve finished my worksheet, but he’s still working on the second play of his paper, which is Julius Caesar. 

“You keep working,” I say, getting up from the table.

“What, you’re leaving me?” he asks, giving me a puppy-dog face. 

“You’ll live,” I say. “I’m just gonna go to the couch. Like, four feet away.” I touch his shoulder and then run my hand down his back as I walk away, and he smirks as he turns back to his paper. I lay down on the couch with my knees bent and pressed together, and close my eyes. I don’t realize I’ve fallen lightly asleep until I feel him sit down at the far end a few minutes later and grab my ankles to pull them onto his lap. 

I gasp and flick open my eyes. “What time is it?” I ask. 

“Chill, it’s 4:40,” he says, one hand holding onto my foot and the other running up my opposite calf. He squeezes the supple part of the muscle and then rakes his fingernails down my shin over my tights. “Sleepyhead. They been workin’ you hard over there at DePaul Prep?” 

I bend my elbows and use my hands as a pillow under my head. “Yeah,” I laugh sleepily. 

He moves to lay on his side so his head is at about my waist-level, and drapes one arm over my hips. “What classes do you take?” he asks, running the scratchy wool of my pullover between his thumb and first finger. 

“Too many,” I say, and take one of my hands out from under me so I can run it over his recently-buzzed hair. “I miss your hair.” 

“It’ll grow back in like, a day,” he says. “What classes? Come on, tell me. I wanna know.” 

“You always wanna know the most boring stuff about me,” I say, and he hugs my waist closer. 

“Is it a crime to want to know things about you?” 

“Should be,” I say, but continue talking as I rub his head. “I have AP Bio, AP Calc, AP English, gym, which I hate. Right now we’re doing basketball.” I give him a deadpan look. “Um… and my free period. That’s all.” 

“Jesus,” he says. “All that combined with my dumb ass has to have you overworked.” 

“I don’t mind,” I say. “I like it.” 

“You have to remember to take time for yourself, though, you know?” he says. “That’s important.” 

I study him for a second and wonder just where he came from. No one’s ever said that to me in such plain terms before in a way that makes me hear it. “This is time for myself,” I say, and he takes my hand and bites the web between my thumb and pointer finger softly. “No biting,” I giggle.  

“I’m coming up there,” he says, and scoots so we’re lying right next to each other on his couch that wasn’t really meant for two people to lie right next to each other. “I gotta tell you something,” he says, one arm still wrapped around me and his forehead pressed right to mine. 

“What?” 

He kisses me, long and sweet. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and shake my head slightly. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” I say, ducking my chin. 

“You can’t hide that blush when I’m centimeters away from your face,” he says, tipping my chin back up. “And I can say it, because it’s true.” 

I slip my tights-covered foot in between his ankles and rest it there as I run my hand down his smooth cheek. “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he responds. “I just wanted to tell you.” 

He kisses me again, brushing my hair back behind my shoulder as he does so. He parts his lips and invites my tongue inside his mouth, and I do my best to follow his lead. I’ve been trying to get better at that the last couple weeks, and I’m starting to feel a little more confident. And he’s always up for practicing. 

He strokes my cheekbone as our lips move against each other, and I take in a big breath. “I’m feeling something that I’ve never felt before,” I say, tightening my arm around his ribcage. 

“What’s that?” 

“Free.” 

\---

On Wednesday night, I’m sitting next to my family in our usual pew dressed in a long-sleeved turquoise dress with my head bent in prayer. I pray for everything that I normally do; my family’s safety and stability, a clear mind for myself and also forgiveness for the sins that I have undoubtedly committed this week. But along with my normal prayers, I add Jackson in there, too. I ask God to help guide him through his final exams and assure that he can end this quarter with a good conscience. 

When we all lift our heads, Father Hadden looks out to the congregation. “Leviticus 19:11,” he says, voice booming as he extends his arms out wide. “Do not steal. Do not lie. Do not deceive one another.” He leaves a silence before speaking again. “Everyone in this room has surely lied sometime in their lives, whether it be big or small. As humans, we’re born sinners. You’re all fully aware of that. Proverbs 12:22 - The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy.” He clears his throat and I feel like he’s looking only at me. I’ve listened to plenty of sermons that focus on lying and its negative effects. I know full well that lying is a sin. But now, weighed down by the fact that I’ve been blatantly lying to my parents for the past few weeks, this is hitting way too close to home. It’s making me uncomfortable sit right next to my mom as she nods along and have to pretend like I’m not one of those sinners who Father Hadden is talking about. 

I barely listen to the rest of his sermon. We finish the Sanctus and then kneel for the Consecration, and afterward Father Hadden says, “Let us offer each other a sign of peace.” 

I turn to Alice on my left and shake her hand with a blank expression on my face. I’m on autopilot; all of these actions are so ingrained into my head that I could do them in my sleep. 

My stomach is in knots as I approach the altar to receive Holy Communion. When I reach Father, he gives me a kind smile and I genuflect and make the sign of the cross over my chest and forehead. I take the Host from him as he says, “The Body of Christ.” 

“Amen,” I say softly. 

He hands me the chalice to take a sip of the Precious Blood and says, “The Blood of Christ.” 

“Amen,” I repeat, and take a small drink before handing the cup back. 

I head back to my spot on the pew and pray hard for a few minutes until it’s time to leave. Father Hadden blesses us all and we make our way back outside to the car, where Mom is talking excitedly about the ways in which the sermon resonated with her. Usually I can match her excitement and hold an active conversation about how it made me feel, but that’s not the case tonight. I’m silent in the back seat next to the window with Alice in the middle, and I let the rest of my family carry on talking without me. 

As I’m brushing my teeth later, standing in front of the mirror in my light yellow nightgown, I watch my mom come in through the reflection of the mirror. I turn to face her and she gives me a little smile and sits down on the closed toilet lid, then says, “Is everything okay, Duckie?” 

I spit out my toothpaste and start to rinse. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, looking at her and then back at myself in the mirror. 

“You’ve been so quiet lately,” she says, and I spit out the water and pull out my hairbrush. I turn around to face her as I run it over my hair, smoothing it down until there aren’t any more frizzy spots. 

“Oh…” I trail off, not really knowing how to respond to that. “I don’t know.” 

I continue to brush my hair and she just watches me like she sometimes does. It’s never made me uncomfortable before, but now I have something to hide and I feel like she’s going to find it. There’s nothing that would lead her to my secret, but she’s my mom and I have the tendency to be an open book. I’m not good at keeping secrets, and Jackson is the biggest secret I’ve ever had. 

“I just wanna make sure you’re fine,” she says, standing. She walks over to me and kisses my forehead, and I lean into her.

I start to weave my hair back into a French braid, starting out at the crown of my head and moving down. “I promise I’m okay,” I say. “I’ve just been busy. You know, school, my friends, tutoring.” 

“Are you still enjoying tutoring that boy?” she asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Good,” she says. “I haven’t heard you complain once. I’m so proud of you, April. I really am.” 

Guilt sits like a heavy stone in my gut. “Thanks,” I peep. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her. After I tie up the end of my braid, I touch the tiny cross around my neck and then press it gently into the space between my collarbones. 

“What’s that boy’s name again?” she asks. 

“Jackson,” I say. It feels wrong to say his name to her. They are two very different parts of my life that I deliberately keep separated. 

“And he’s nice to you?” she asks. I nod, and she smiles. “Good. I’m sure you’re helping him so much.” 

“I think so,” I say. 

We exchange a few more pleasantries and then she heads off to bed, leaving me to finish up my nightly routine and then pad to my own bedroom, my nightgown swishing around my ankles as I walk. After I close my door, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare down at the carpet in the dark, wondering how I got to this point and if what I’m doing is really as bad as Father Hadden made it seem. 

For my whole life, I’ve been taught to take God’s word as gospel. That’s all I know. So the fact that I’ve been going against Him so easily for the past few weeks is terrifying. It’s making me question how strong my faith ever really was if it’s been so easy for me to falter. 

But Jackson makes me feel so much - he makes me feel everything. He makes me feel seen, special, and desired. And those are three things that I’ve never felt before in my life. He makes me happy - happier than I’ve ever been around another person. And God wants me to be happy, I know that much. Jackson appearing in my life was not happenstance, he showed up for a reason. God gave him to me for a reason; so why do I feel like I’m doing something so wrong by seeing him? 

I sigh and crawl under my covers, lying on my side to blink slowly towards the wall as I drift off to sleep. I know this is only going to get harder. 

\---

On the last day before Jackson’s quarter ends, I’m sitting on his floor with flashcards strewn out in front of me in a neat square - ten across and eight down. He finished his Brit Lit paper a few days ago, and I’ve been helping him study for his Organic Chemistry exam ever since. All of this stuff is interesting to me, but right now it’s completely over my head, so my job is to just read off the flashcards. 

I hold one up with some sort of formula on it that I don’t understand, but I know he does. He looks at it for a moment and then raises his eyebrows. “Alkanes,” he says. 

“Correct,” I say enthusiastically, and then lean forward onto my hands to reach across the flashcards and give him a kiss. 

“I love being smart,” he says. 

I roll my eyes and bend my legs off to the side. “These contain at least one benzene ring or similar structural features,” I say. 

“Easy. Aromatic hydrocarbon,” he answers, and I give him a thumbs-up. I lean across the flashcards again and he kisses me again, short and sweet. 

“Unsaturated hydrocarbons containing at least one carbon-carbon triple bond.” 

He stares at me like reading my face might have the answer, and I give him an encouraging look. “I don’t know,” he admits. 

“Just try,” I say. “You do know.” 

He sighs vehemently, visibly upset with himself. “Alkene,” he guesses. 

“No,” I say. “Close, though. It’s alkyne.” 

He pounds his knee with a closed fist. “Goddamn it,” he says, and shakes his head. 

“It’s okay,” I say. “Do you want to take a break?” 

“No,” he says. “I’m just… this makes me fucking mad. We’ve been studying these stupid cards for days and I still can’t get some of these right. If I don’t make an A on this exam, I’m gonna be super pissed.” 

“If you don’t make an A, it’ll be fine,” I say gently. “Bs are okay, too.” 

“They’re not,” he says. “Not for…” He lets out a long breath. “Averys. We don’t get Bs. You’re my tutor so I don’t get a B in English, and I don’t like that I’m making you tutor me in this, too.” 

I can’t help but feel a little wounded, though I know he’s not trying to take out his anger on me. “I really don’t mind, Jackson,” I say. 

“I know you don’t,” he says. “And that’s why you’re amazing. But I still don’t want to be making you do this.” 

“What do you mean when you say Averys don’t get Bs?” I ask. We’ve talked about my family plenty of times; he’s always very interested in the ins and outs of them. I think they freak him out a little bit, but he always asks to know more. But his family, on the other hand, he almost never talks about. 

“My mom…” he begins, but then leaves his mouth open with no words coming out. “I don’t know. It seems stupid to say out loud.” 

I step over the flashcards and sit next to him on his side. “It’s me,” I say. “Don’t worry about sounding stupid.” 

“Because you think I’m stupid anyway?” he jokes. 

I nod and giggle. “Exactly.” 

He sighs and pulls me onto his lap. I sit sideways with my feet flat on the floor and one of his arms supporting my back and the other slipped under both of my knees, and he hugs me closer while he talks. “In my family, I’m the pretty one,” he says. “You know. My eyes, my smile, my body… I mean, you should see me without a shirt on, it’s kinda ridiculous.” I wind one arm around his shoulders and use the other one to punch his chest as I roll my eyes. “But my family,” he continues. “Smart, driven, crazy overachievers, you know? And they look like they’re smart. They don’t look like me, which has its perks. Except my family treated me like I’m pretty. They expected nothing from me, ever. Never pushed me, never thought to. So I had to push myself. Hard. I didn’t even tell them I was applying to DePaul until I got in. My point is that… if I do badly in this class - a class that’s so important to the field I want to go into, that just shows them that they’re right. And I really don’t want them to be right.” 

I spend a long time just looking at his face, and he keeps staring down at the flashcards in front of us. “They won’t be right,” I say, lifting my hand to run it down his cheek. “You’re more than just a pretty face.” 

He chuckles a little. “Shania Twain song.” 

“What?” 

“That’s a Shania Twain song,” he says. “You’d probably like it.” 

“Well, sure,” I say. “But it’s also true. I know you’re so much more than that. You’re so smart, Jackson. You ever just look into someone’s eyes and you just  _ know _ how smart they are?” 

He lifts his gaze back up to me. “I’ve looked into your eyes plenty of times, haven’t I?” 

I blush and shake my head. “I also thought that about you, from the first time I met you,” I tell him. 

“Before or after you dropped all those papers?” he asks, jostling me. 

“Low blow,” I say. “Just when I was trying to be nice.” 

He digs his fingers into my side. “Oh, stop,” he says. “I was freaking out just as much, I’m just way more suave than your frazzled ass. I saw you in that goddamn uniform and about died, number one. Number two, when I saw your face, just... whoa.” 

“What do you mean, whoa?” I ask, trailing my fingers up his chest to fix the collar of his shirt. It’s flipped halfway up, so I smooth it back down. 

“Whoa, like whoa,” he says. “You’re the most beautiful girl ever. I thought that then and I think it now.” 

I push my glasses up my nose and shake my head a little. “You must be blind then,” I say softly. 

“You’re the one with the glasses, nerd, not me,” he says, and kisses me. He holds my body tighter as he presses his lips to mine, and then situates me so I’m sitting forward on his lap, facing him with one knee on either side of his hips. 

He winds his arms around the small of my back and then slips his hands lower to take two generous fistfuls of my butt over my skirt. I squeal a little bit and press my torso flush against his, then tilt my head slightly so I can kiss him. I close my lips over his and he tightens his grip on my butt, which yanks me as close to him as I could possibly be. I drape my arms over his shoulders and intertwine my fingers together behind his head, then take a leap of faith and move my lips away from his mouth, down to his jaw, and then past his jawline to open my mouth on his neck. 

“Oh, my god,” he moans, and digs his fingers sharp into me. 

“Is that good?” I ask nervously, sitting up straight to look at him. “Was that okay?” 

He keeps one hand where it is and skims the other one up my back, under my pullover but over my white blouse. “It was great,” he says. “That was a good ‘oh, my god,’ not a bad one.” 

“Oh,” I say, smiling. “Should I keep…?” He nods and then tips his head to the side so I have room to go back, which I do. His skin is warm and smells just faintly of the cologne that he uses, and the feeling of it against my tongue and lips is doing crazy things to me. I can feel his heartbeat inside my mouth; I never knew I wanted it there until right now. 

I pull my hands apart and rest them on either of his shoulders with my fingers spread out, gripping tightly as I work my mouth against him. I don’t know if we would have ever been able to stop had it not been for the buzzing of his phone in his pocket, which makes us jump and instinctively pull away from each other. 

“Shit,” he says, pulling it out to look at the screen. “It’s my mom. Hold… hold on.” 

I get up off of him and go back to my side of the flashcards, pressing one hand to my heart in an attempt to regulate my breathing. I don’t try and listen to his conversation as he walks away - that’s not polite - but I can’t help but notice the shift in the tone of his voice. He’s gone for about seven minutes before he comes back, looking upset. 

“What was it?” I ask. He sits back down on the floor and shakes his head, rubbing his temples as he stares absently down at the cards. “Did she say something bad?” 

“She pisses me off,” he says under his breath. “She doesn’t think I can do this. She never has.” 

“I’m sure she doesn’t think that-” 

“She basically just said it to me,” he retorts. “That paper, the first one you helped me with. I let her read it awhile ago when I got back the A.” He scoffs. “She didn’t even think it was mine. She asked me who I paid to write it.” 

“What?” I ask. 

“Yeah. And now, she’s grilling me on everything I need to be doing to prepare for this exam, like I don’t already know. Like I’m not already doing it.” He grits his teeth. “She pushes and pushes and pushes, yet somehow at the same time has no faith in me. I don’t get it.” 

I watch him for a moment; eyes glistening, jaw trembling, and feel an overwhelming sadness root itself in my chest. My parents are overbearing and strict, but they have always had faith in me. Their philosophy is that me and my sisters can do anything we put our minds to, and that’s always been the case. I wouldn’t know what to do with an unsupportive parent, and I find myself feeling inexplicably sad for him. 

“You’re gonna show her,” I say, my voice firm. “I’ll stay for - for however long you need me to stay. Until you get these cards perfect. I’ll tell my parents I’m eating at Lexie’s, I don’t care. You’re gonna show her that you can do this. That you’re here for a reason.” 

He finally looks up at me, and his eyes are saying something I can’t quite understand as he shakes his head slowly. 

“What?” I ask. 

“Where did you come from?” he asks. 

I snort. “In what terms?” 

“I…” He closes his mouth, thinks about what he wants to say, and starts again. “No one’s ever believed in me like you.” 

My whole body feels tingly. “Well, they should,” I say, and then lean forward as I pull myself up on my knees. “Let’s get back to these cards. What’s the definition of a ‘functional group?’” 

\---

I call my mom right at 5, as we’re only about halfway through the rest of the cards and need more time. I told Jackson I would stay and help, and I want to - no matter how much he insists that I don’t have to. “Mom?” I say, right when she picks up. 

“Hi, honey.” 

“Can I eat dinner and hang out at Lexie’s tonight?” I ask. “I… uh, we have an AP Bio exam coming up soon before Thanksgiving break and we’re on a roll studying.” 

She pauses. “It’s a school night,” she says. 

“I know,” I say. “We’re doing school.”

She sighs. “Okay. But be home by 9, you know that.” 

“I know,” I say again. “I’ll text when I’m on my way.” 

She agrees and I hang up the phone to face Jackson again. “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he says, shuffling around the cards. 

“Don’t,” I say, staring at the floorboards. “It’s not like I like doing it.” 

“April, if you don’t wanna lie for me-” 

“I shouldn’t have to,” I say sternly. “I’m not saying I’m gonna… stop, or anything. I’m just saying that I shouldn’t have to lie about something that makes me happy.” 

He seems satisfied with that answer, and we go through a couple more cards. He gets all of them right. “At church last night,” I say. “Father Hadden was talking about lying. It was freaky. It made me feel like I’m bugged or something.” 

He laughs. “No hidden cameras here,” he says. “At your church, you do the whole thing were you like, eat the skin and drink Jesus’ blood, right?” 

I roll my eyes, ask him a card that he gets correct, and then say, “That’s not what it’s called, but yeah.” 

“I never got that. It seems creepy. Like, you say you’re not allowed to watch horror movies, but you’re out here drinking blood and eating flesh or whatever.” 

I sigh. “It’s not like that. It’s holy. And if anyone else but me heard you say that, they’d freak out.” 

“Good thing we’re not bugged, then.” 

“Good thing,” I say, giggling. 

After we’ve gone through the cards a second time, my stomach growls. “Are you that hungry?” he asks. “I was gonna order some food in tonight. I can do that now, if you want.” 

“You don’t have to,” I say. “I’ll eat when I get home.”

“You said you were gonna eat dinner at Lexie’s,” he says. “That’s what you told your mom. So what’s she gonna think when you’re eating a second dinner?” 

I press my lips together. He’s not wrong. 

He orders a pizza and we go through more cards until it gets here. He’s on a roll; he hasn’t gotten one wrong for at least 45 minutes. When the pizza gets here, we set it on the floor between us and keep going until he can answer them without even having to stop and think. 

“This is kind of like our Thanksgiving dinner,” he says, still eating. I was full after my third piece, and now my stomach is bloated as I lay on my back on the floor. “Since we’re not gonna see each other for like, a week.” 

I turn to look at him with one hand resting over my gut. “That’s gonna suck,” I say. 

“I know,” he says, and leans down to kiss me. 

“You taste like pizza,” I say, scrunching up my face as he pulls away. 

“Would make sense,” he says, raising the slice that he’s holding. He reaches out and pats my belly. “Not my fault you ate too much.” 

I groan. “Whatever.” During the silence, my ears perk up to the music he has playing in the background and I recognize the song ‘Try A Little Tenderness’ by Otis Redding, which was one of my favorites on the mix CD he made me. “I love this song,” I say, closing my eyes. “It’s one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. Doesn’t it just make you happy?” 

He kisses me again, which surprises me because my eyes are closed, and I pucker back just as he’s pulling away. We both laugh and then he pulls my head to rest on his lap, using his thigh as a pillow as he runs his fingers through my hair gently. 

“Now it does,” he says. 

I make a small, happy sound and reach up to stroke his chin as the song plays on. We lie there on the floor for a while, until the sun goes down and we both know that it’s time for me to leave. 

“I don’t want you to go,” he says, and I rub my eyes tiredly. “Even though it looks like it’s past your bedtime.” 

I giggle. “I know, I’m such a baby,” I say, and yawn. “I don’t want to go, either, though. A whole week?” I make a pretend-pouty face. “Stupid Thanksgiving.” 

“When I come back, though, we’ll have brand new English shit to work on. I’m in American Lit next quarter, how exciting.” 

I clap my hands together as he walks to me to the door. After my shoes are on, I lean against the wall and he braces one hand on it over my shoulder, essentially trapping me in. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says. 

“I’ll miss you, too…” I say in a singsong voice, leaning forward to wrap my arms around his waist and hold him tight. “But you can text me.” 

“The moment you walk out that door I’m gonna text you.” 

“I hope you do,” I say, laughing. 

We stand there kissing for a while, my back against the wall with both of my pointer fingers slipped through his belt loops. “Okay, I have to go,” I finally whisper, mouth moving against his. 

“Damn,” he murmurs. 

“Text you soon,” I say. “Have a good holiday. I’ll see you the Monday after.” 

“You’re supposed to eat turkey on Thanksgiving,” he says, just as I walk out the door. “Not human flesh and blood. Try and remember that.” 

I roll my eyes and start to pull the door shut. “Goodbye, Jackson.” 

\---

For Thanksgiving, we travel to my aunt and uncle’s house in Ohio. Which means that all of us - and I mean all of us, including Libby who’s come home from college for break - pile into the van and make the four hour long trip. It’s an annual tradition, but it’s gotten close to insufferable as we’ve gotten older and take up more space. 

As usual, Mom and Dad are up front with Dad in the driver’s seat, Kimmie and Alice are in the middle two and Libby and I share the back. We’ve been on the road for the better part of the day - we should be arriving pretty soon, and I’ve just woken up from a long nap. 

“Duckie,” I hear Libby say, and she takes out her headphones. I hadn’t even realized she’d been listening to something. As I blink my eyes open, I realize that they’re my headphones - or rather, Jackson’s headphones - and they’re plugged into my iPod. 

“What are you doing?” I hiss, and snatch them both from her. “Those are mine.” 

“Where did you get this music?” she asks, eyeing my device. “And who’s Jackson? He keeps texting you.” 

I shove both my phone and my iPod into my backpack and away from her. “None of your business,” I say. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asks. 

I flash my eyes and set my jaw firmly. Mom is singing along to religious songs with her choir voice and Kimmie and Alice are deep in conversation about something that Alice is drawing. 

“No,” I say. 

“Then who’s Jackson?” 

“I tutor him,” I say, crossing my legs over one another. Today, in typical holiday fashion, we’re all dressed up. I’m in a brown, long-sleeved, knee-length dress with a white peter pan collar and white tights. “And anyway, I said it’s not your business.” 

“It’s okay if you do,” she says. “I won’t tell. I’m your big sister, I just wanna know.” 

“I said I don’t,” I snap, tucking my curled hair behind my ears. There’s no way that I’d tell Libby, because knowing her she’d let it slip in the most accidental of ways and my life would be ruined. “He’s just my student.” 

“A student who’s texting you like, fifteen times in a row?” 

I pull my phone back out to see that she was right, he definitely has been blowing it up. I stay safe and click the screen off, though. I don’t need her stealing it from me or reading over my shoulder. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know what he wants,” I say. 

I know she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push me anymore. She drops the subject until we get to Aunt Mary and Uncle Rob’s, where while we’re helping out in the kitchen, it gets picked up again. 

“So, April,” Aunt Mary says as she pulls the green bean casserole out of the oven. “Anything new and exciting in your life? Any boys?” 

Kimmie and Alice, who are also in the kitchen, start to laugh. I feel my face get hot with humiliation and anger - little do they know. 

“April and a boy?” Kimmie asks sardonically. "Yeah, right." 

“Don’t be mean,” Aunt Mary says. “April, I’m curious. Anything?” 

“No,” I say, staring down at the granite of the countertop. “No one.” 

“She tutors a boy, but that’s it,” Alice says.

“That’s the only thing she cares about,” Kimmie says. “Is school. School and church. And being better than us at everything.” 

“I’m not trying to be better,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Maybe I just am.” 

“I heard that,” Kimmie snips. 

“I meant for you to,” I snap back. 

“Girls,” Aunt Mary says. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight. It was just a question.” 

I slip on two oven mitts and pick up the dish of green bean casserole to bring to the table. “I don’t have any boys in my life,” I lie. “I’m making a 4.0 and I’ve already been accepted to DePaul next year, pretty much. I volunteer at the food pantry and with the youth group every week. I don’t need a boy in my life, I’m busy enough.” 

I sigh as I walk out to the dining room, remembering the days where I could say that and I wasn't lying. 


	7. Chapter 7

My whole family is sitting around the long table as everything for our Thanksgiving meal lays before us. I'm in between Libby and Kimmie - we’re in age order - and our plates are still empty as my grandpa leads us in prayer.

I clasp my sisters’ hands and bow my head as I listen to him speak. “Dear Lord,” he begins. “Thank you for gathering our family here on this blessed day. We are so thankful to all be in the same place in Your presence along with this terrific meal. Thank you for nourishing our bodies with this plentiful food, and thank you for helping everyone's travels to Moline go safely. Please continue to guide us in Your light and show us the holy way as we go through the rest of this year. We love you so much, Lord. Thank you for blessing us. Amen.”

Everyone lifts their heads and my grandma starts serving everyone their plates. I get some turkey, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole, and then start to eat quietly as everyone talks animatedly around me.

I get through dinner without anything more than small talk directed my way, which I'm glad for. I listen to my grandpa talk about his friends that he plays bingo with, my Aunt Ruth talk about the students that she teaches in elementary school, and Libby talk about the classes she's taking at Ohio State. I listen actively, nodding along when I'm supposed to, and participate with what I’m thankful for when it comes that time - saying the same answer as every year. My family and God.

As the conversations taper off, I almost flinch when my name is spoken directly.

Dessert is on the table, and only about half of us are sitting and eating. My mom, my two aunts, my sisters and two of my girl cousins - Opal and Hannah - are still here. All the men have filtered out to the living room, where they must be watching a football game like they usually do after we eat.

“I was talking to April before dinner,” Aunt Mary says, and I glance up from my plate to look at her across the table. “Asked if she has any boys in her life.”

Kimmie and Alice bust up giggling, right on cue.

“April doesn't have time for boys,” Mom says, giving me a warm look.

“Yes, she does,” Libby says, her tone near taunting.

Mom pauses with the tines of her fork in her mouth and her eyebrows screwed up with confusion. “What do you mean, Libby?” she asks, forcing herself to smile.

Libby lets out a little snort of laughter and I narrow my eyes in her direction. “April seems to really like spending time with that boy she tutors,” she says.

“After school, that's where she's always rushing to go,” Alice chimes in.

“I think April has a _cru-ush_ ,” Kimmie sings.

I furrow my eyebrows together and hear my cousins start to titter along with my sisters. “Girls…” Mom says, as she tries to calm the room. Her efforts don’t work, though.

“She’s allowed to have a crush, that's fine,” Aunt Ruth says. “What's so wrong with having a crush?” She forces eye contact with me and I grip my spoon tight. “It's good for you, honey. Enjoy it.”

“Be careful who you pick though, Duckie,” Libby says. “It’s really gonna hurt when he doesn't like you back.”

Blood rushes to my face and I stand up suddenly from my chair, which forces it back with a loud groan. I stand there for a shocked second, chest heaving as I look into the baffled faces of my family staring up at me, then finally say, “Just stop!” I can feel my body trembling. “Just stop, stop talking.”

“Well, I mean, whenever you have your first boyfriend-”

“Don't,” I say, cutting Libby off.

“Well, when you told me that you were tutoring a boy, I was like - oh my god, don't make any sudden movements!” Libby says, making a dramatic hand gesture.

“Oh, my gosh - stop talking about me like no boy has ever found me pretty!” I sputter.

“Duckie…” Libby says, sounding taken aback.

“And stop calling me Duckie,” I add. “I don't want to be Duckie anymore. My acne cleared up last year, and I got rid of my braces. Sometimes, I even use makeup. I did all those years of physical therapy to correct my pigeon toes, and if you haven't noticed - I've learned how to condition my hair. I am _not_ your hopeless, ugly little sister anymore. I am _not_ an ugly duckling. I'm a… I’m a swan.”

I know my chest and face are flushed, and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. No one knows what to say; no one expected that, that's for sure.

“Of course you're a swan, sweetie,” Mom says, and touches my wrist gently. I look over and see an expression on her face that I've never seen directed towards me: concern.

“May I be excused,” I ask under my breath, and Mom gives me a curt nod. I take my plate and leave it in the kitchen, then sequester myself to the front room where I can be alone.

I know everyone is probably back in the dining room talking about me in hushed tones, but I don't care. I'm tired of being the one that's always stepped on. I've had this role for my whole life, and it's gotten old by now.

I don't know how long I stay in the window seat, staring outside with my knees pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them, before my mom comes in.

“April…” she says cautiously. I turn to look at her and wipe some stray tears off of my cheeks. “Honey. I’d like to talk with you.”

“What is it?” I ask, and find myself snapping.

“You won’t take that tone with me, young lady,” she says, her voice turning stern.

“I'm sorry,” I say, looking back out the window where the gray clouds have begun to hang lower.

“You know we need to talk about what happened over dessert,” she says.

“I really wish we didn't,” I say.

“April Mary,” she says, looking at me with serious eyes. “I want you to listen to me. What’s going on? This is not like you. What happened back there, that's not the April that I know. That's not the little girl I raised.”

“Yes it is, mom, I-”

“April,” she warns. “Tone.”

I let a long breath out of my nose and force myself to make eye contact with her. Her eyes are mine; forest green with hints of hazel towards the middle, and her forehead is lined with worry. “I’m not a little girl,” I say. “I’m sorry for getting angry, but I’m not a little girl.”

She purses her lips. “Listen to me,” she says. “And I want you to tell me the truth. You got really defensive back there when the topic of boys was brought up. You’ve been getting that way for a little while now. And… well, your dad and I have noticed that you've been spending a lot of one-on-one time with Lexie lately. Sweetheart, I have to ask. Are you have unnatural feeling towards girls?” She clears her throat. “You can tell me. We can work on getting through it together.”

I stare at her for a long time, wondering how she could be so very far off the mark. “Mom, no,” I say, shaking my head and squinting. “No. You're…oh, my gosh. No.”

Her shoulders relax slightly, but the scrutinizing look in her eyes doesn't go away. “You know you can talk to me about anything,” she says. “Anything you're struggling with, and I can help you through it.”

“I'm not going through anything,” I say. My skin is bristling and I can hardly bear to be in this room with her anymore. “I'm just tired of being the butt of every joke. I'm tired of being the one who always gets picked on. It's not fair. Maybe I spend time with…” I clear my throat. “ _Lexie_ because she's the one of the only people who doesn't pick on me.”

I stare down at my knobby knees through my tights and feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. I’ve never wanted to run away from my family as badly as I do right now, probably because I’ve never had a place to run to. At the moment, I can’t think of anything better than just being with Jackson and not feeling so bad about myself.

“Eventually, they’ll get tired of it,” Mom says.

I pick at the same spot on my tights with my fingernail. “You’ve been saying that for years,” I mutter, and she grabs my hand so I stop the repetitive motion.

“Have you been praying about it?” she asks.

I shrug one shoulder and bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can. I don’t want to cry; not here. Not now. I don’t want to make a big scene and have her comfort me and this turn into some sort of therapy session. I’m just as mad at my mom as I am my sisters. Nothing she’ll say is going to help me.

“You need to be,” she says. “God can give you the guidance that I can’t.”

I nod, if only to appease her. “Okay,” I say.

“Should I leave you alone so you can talk to Him?” she asks, nodding encouragingly.

“Sure,” I say, still gnawing on my cheek. I taste blood, but I ignore it.

“Okay.” She stands up and gives me a kiss on top of the head. “Come out when you’re ready, Duckie girl. I love you, and God loves you. Remember that.” I nod, very small. “And your sisters love you, too. They just don’t know how to show it sometimes.” I don’t respond with words or any motions, and she leaves the room so I’m alone again.

I stay in there until I hear everyone getting ready for bed. When we stay here, I usually share a room with Libby, but I refuse to do that tonight. I take my bag from the front hall, pull my night things out of it, and get ready for bed in the upstairs bathroom. I’ll sleep in the front room tonight; there’s a couch with blankets and no one else sleeps in there.

“Duckie, are you coming?” Libby asks, peeking her head out of the guest room.

I shake my head no. Alice looks to Mom with a defiant expression on her face. “How come April gets a bedroom to herself?” she demands.

“I’m sleeping in the front room,” I say.

“Who said you had to do that?” Mom asks, confused.

“No one,” I say, toothbrush hanging out of my mouth. “I just want to.”

“April,” Mom says. “It’s not very nice of you to sleep apart from your sister. You two always share the guest room, every year.”

“Opal can take my spot,” I say. “She’s always asking to, anyway.”

Hearing her name, our younger cousin peeks out of the room that she, Alice and Hannah usually share. I wave her in with Libby and ignore the looks that my family gives me in return. I finish brushing my teeth, change into a lavender nightgown, and retreat back downstairs into the room that I’ve claimed as my own. I make the couch up like a bed; one blanket laid flat underneath me with a throw pillow under my head, and an afghan that my grandma made me for a cover. Admittedly, it’s not the most comfortable, but it’s better than sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder with the sister who started all this.

I lay there with my eyes wide open, just staring ahead as the house grows silent around me. There aren’t even any errant creaks or sighs of the woodwork - I know for a fact that I’m the only one awake in the whole family.

I sit up on the couch and let my bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor. I traipse to the front entryway, unzip my backpack, and pull out my phone, cupping my hands protectively around it until I’m back to the safety of my couch. I click it on, turn my brightness all the way down, and see that I have ten unread texts from Jackson ranging all throughout the day.

 **RECEIVED: 9:42am-** ugh. Just woke up. My familys already all in the kitchen playing like we’re some happy go lucky sort of brady bunch family type of deal. Pls kill me now

 **RECEIVED: 10:39am-** still hiding in my room………….wish u were here. Wyd?

 **RECEIVED: 11:49am-** prolly in the car. Cant text huh????? Well i miss u…… come back soon or else

 **RECEIVED: 1:27pm-** just ate. Was really good but not as good as our pizza, ngl

 **RECEIVED: 3:18pm-** now im literally just staring at the tv as all my male relatives go on and on about football like yeah its cool whatever sure……..can u leave my house now. Thx

 **RECEIVED: 4:01pm-** missing youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

 **RECEIVED: 5:30pm-** wow im srsly blowing up ur phone arent i??????

 **RECEIVED: 6:58pm-** April april april april aprilaprilaprilaprillllllllll

 **RECEIVED: 7:52pm-** thats it im killing all these ppl and hiding the bodies. No one will suspect me but just in case wanna escape to mexico?

 **RECEIVED: 9:02pm-** ok. Im honestly dying. Are u???? Did u die??? Did ur family sacrifice you????

I look at the clock near the top of the screen to see that it reads close to 11. At home, I’d be passed out by now. But lying here on the uncomfortable couch with my stomach sick from anxiety, there’s no way I’m closing my eyes anytime soon.

 **SENT: 10:53pm-** are you awake?

 **RECEIVED: 10:54pm-** omg. She lives

I can’t help but smile at my phone, then peer towards the doorway and listen closely to see if I hear the activity of anyone else awake. When I experience the same silence as moments before, I cautiously press the call button over Jackson’s contact and press the phone tight to my ear after pulling the afghan up over my head.

I need to hear his voice. Just talking to him can get me through the rest of this holiday, I know that for sure.

“I thought you died,” he says, and I can hear the smile behind his words.

“Hi,” I breathe, so grateful that he picked up. “Can you talk?”

“Sure,” he says. “A lot of my family is still downstairs, but they won’t even notice I’m gone. I’m just gonna get in bed. Is that where you are?”

“Bed, more like couch,” I say.

“Rough,” he says. “They make you sleep on a couch out there in Moline?”

I sigh and mess with the threads of the inside of the blanket. “They didn’t make me,” I say. “I chose to.”

“Libby’s that bad, huh?” he asks.

I told him all about how Thanksgiving usually goes - all the details, even down to the sleeping arrangements. And of course, he remembered. “Yeah,” I say. “She honestly is.”

He notices the change in my tone. “What did she do?” he asks.

As soon as those words come out of his mouth, the floodgates open. I hadn’t realized I’d been about to cry until it happens, and tears are pouring over my nose, down my cheeks, even inside my ears as I lay on my side. “They’re horrible, Jackson,” I say, trying to keep my sobs as quiet as I can.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, his voice soft and soothing. “Talk to me. It’s okay. What happened?”

I sniffle and wipe my nose on my wrist. “They all ganged up on me at the table. Even before we sat down to eat, my aunt asked me, you know, if there are any boys in my life. And of course, I had to lie and say no. That’s not the problem, not really… but my sisters were all saying basically how unrealistic it is for any boy to ever like me. Calling me by that stupid nickname and making me just feel completely horrible about myself in front of everyone. And it happened again while we were having dessert, it had to get brought back up _again_ ,” I sob. “And I stood up from the table and told them how tired I am of it. And I don’t want to be called Duckie anymore because I’m _not_ that person anymore. I’m so tired of them thinking that I don’t deserve to have a boy care about me, and my mom was just giving me these awful looks and… I left the table and went into the room I’m in now. And Mom came to talk to me in here and asked me if I had feelings for _Lexie_ . Because how dare I have feelings for a boy. It’s stupidly impossible for ugly little April to have feelings for a boy and for any boy to possibly _see me_ and _like me_ for the way I am. They all think I’m so unfortunate. And… and…” I start to hiccup through my sobs. “It really, really hurts me.”

I cover my face with my free hand and cry it out, and he’s silent for as long as I need him to be. “Babe,” he says after I’ve calmed down enough to hear him clearly. My stomach jumps at his choice of words - I’ve never been called any term of endearment by anyone other than my mom. Hearing him call me that makes my heart turn itself inside out. “If you need me to come to Ohio and knock some people flat, I totally will. Right now.”

I laugh through my tears. “No…” I say.

“I hate that they talk that way to you. You don’t deserve it; I know you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to stand up for yourself. I’m so glad you did that. Even if it seems like they didn’t hear you, I’m guessing more stuck than you think.” I wipe beneath my eyes and use the blanket to mop up my nose. “You’re not ugly. I hate even hearing that word come out of your mouth when you’re talking about yourself. You’re fuckin’... gorgeous, April. I mean that. You know I mean that. And, god, I don’t know.” He sighs. “I care about you… I care about you _so much_ , dude. Jesus, I’m not good with words. I just wish I could be there. I wanna hug you so bad right now. Hearing you like this really sucks and I feel like I can’t do anything to help.”

“I wish you were here, too,” I say. “Or more like, I wish I was there. I’d do anything to not be here right now.” I take in a long, shaky breath. “And I could really use a hug, too.”

“Monday afternoon, there’s no way I’m letting you go,” he says, and I can hear his smile again. “We’re not doing any work. None at all. Whatsoever. I’m just gonna hold you so tight for the whole hour.”

“The whole hour,” I repeat.

“Just watch me,” he says, then pauses. “Are you gonna be okay?”

I rub my eyes tiredly, the long day finally catching up with me. “Once I get away from here, yeah,” I answer. “Can you just… I don’t know. Can you stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep?”

I hear him let out a tiny gust of air as he grins. “Of course,” he says. “Once upon a time, there-”

“No stories,” I say softly. “No stories. I just want to know you’re here.”

He chuckles. “Fine, no stories. But you’re missing out.”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, and close my eyes.

We’re both silent for a long time, and I feel my limbs twitching with the onset of sleep. “Goodnight, April,” he whispers.

I try and open my mouth to say it back, but I’m already too far gone.

\---

On Monday, I’m halfway down Jackson’s street with my backpack in tow, walking slowly while staring at my feet. The weekend didn’t end any better than it began - Libby was on my case the entire time, which only encouraged Kimmie and Alice to do the same. I barely got any time to text Jackson, let alone call him again, because of their constant breathing down my neck. Dad even pulled an air mattress into my room because Libby insisted that she should be allowed to sleep in there because it used to be hers, too. I was so grateful when she left yesterday night.

I hear a high-pitched, drawn-out whistle, and I look up to see Jackson waiting outside on the front step of his apartment building. My face breaks into a wide smile and I pick up my pace - first fast-walking and then full-out running.

When I reach him, I throw myself into his arms and he catches me with ease, taking a step back as he holds me with my legs wrapped around his waist.

“God, what do you have in this backpack - bricks?” he asks, patting it roughly. With my feet still off the ground, I manage to take it off so he can hug me closer. I wrap my arms around him as tightly as I can and bury my face in his neck, and he sways me back and forth while chuckling a little bit. “I missed you, too,” he says, and then I stand on my own.

“You shaved,” I say, and run my hands down his smooth face. “I like it.” I hold his cheeks and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around the small of my back so my heels lift up off the ground and my hips lean in towards his.

“I thought you would,” he says. “I was thinking about you when I did it.”

“It’s very nice,” I say, and kiss his cheek once I pull away from his lips.

“Wanna go up?” he asks. “Or do you wanna make out like, right here? I’m all for it, but I think we should start charging the neighbors.” I smile and bend to pick up my backpack, but he gets there first. “I’ll carry the thousand pound beast,” he says. “You’re gonna break your back.”

We make it upstairs and he tosses it onto the couch and kicks his shoes off. I follow his lead, placing mine in their neat row by the door, unlike his which he just leaves wherever he’s flung them. “How was school?” he asks.

I unbutton my blazer and hang it over the back of a chair, leaving me in my button-up white blouse. I don’t pull this one out often - it has pearl buttons, so I like to keep it special. But today, I wanted to wear it.

“Awful, as usual,” I say.

He pours me a glass of water and watches me as I drink it. “Who was it? Callie? Alex?” he asks, his voice growing defensive.

I shake my head and swallow the water. “Izzie,” I say.

“What’d she do?”

“I was walking with my friend, George, after free period,” I say, tracing the rim of the clear glass. “It was just stupid. She saw us together in the hallway and was saying really annoying stuff about how we were losers in love. And I don’t get it… why does she feel the need?” I sigh. “George wanted to say something, but I told him it wasn’t worth it. It’s only gonna make it worse if you say something back.”

“You said something back at Thanksgiving,” he points out.

“Yeah, and look what that got me,” I say, slumping. “My sisters tortured me the rest of the weekend. And they’ll keep on torturing me.” He looks perplexed. “Am I always gonna have to deal with this?” I ask. “I’m so tired. In general, and tired of you know, being made fun of for everything I do.”

I set my water glass down and he hugs me. “Do you wanna take a nap?” he asks softly.

“What about your work?” I ask. “New quarter started today.”

“Syllabus day,” he tells me, running one hand over the back of my head. “Nothing to do. Sounds like naptime.” I nod against his chest, and he says, “Okay.”

Jackson lifts his arms off of me and starts to walk towards his room, and I say, “In there?”

He turns to look back at me over his shoulder with an open expression on his face. “Yeah, I was thinking my bed. This couch is shit, you know that.”

“I… right,” I say.

“Unless you don’t want to,” he says.

I shake my head vigorously. “No, I want to,” I insist, and follow him inside.

I’ve never been in here before. The walls are a slate gray and he has a midnight blue comforter on his unmade bed with dark gray sheets and matching pillows. His furniture is a dark wood, and the room feels like a bubble away from the rest of his apartment. It smells like a boy - but in a good way. Not like testosterone, Axe cologne and sweat like at school. It’s different - more mature. It smells innately of Jackson, and I love it.

“Sorry, it’s messy,” he says, kicking some dirty clothes out of the path to the bed. “Probably looks nothing like your room.”

“Well, I’m very clean,” I say, and rub one of my eyes with my knuckle. “And you’re very messy.”

“Way to rub it in,” he says, and puts his hand on the back of his neck. “I… um, do you take naps with socks on or socks off?” I look down at my tights, and then back up at him with a little grin on my face. “Oh, right,” he says, then climbs in first.

The bed is relatively high off the ground, so I lift myself up by placing my knee on first and then slide in next to him. The sheets are warm and smell like sleep, and the mattress is soft but not too soft. He extends his left arm and welcomes me to his side, and I tentatively move closer to him. I don’t want to do something wrong. This is a step we haven’t taken before and my stomach is alive with nerves.

But his body is familiar. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and I use his chest as a pillow, getting closer to him than we’ve been yet. I lay my arm over his ribcage and am comforted by the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathes, and I press the cold undersides of my tights-covered feet to his shins with a little giggle. “Okay, ice girl,” he murmurs, and kisses my hairline as he runs his fingertips over my arm.

He ducks his chin to look down at me, and then uses his free hand to touch the highest button on my blouse. “Pearls,” he says. “How fancy. Was that for me?”

I smile against his t-shirt. “Maybe,” I say.

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.”

I listen to his heart beating right under my ear and close my eyes. I don’t want the rest of my life to edge back in ever again - if I could save this moment right here and live in it forever, I would.

\---

I ace my exams and get a full 4.0 for my first trimester of senior year. My winter break starts just before Christmas, and Jackson’s has already begun - so my schedule doesn’t permit me to go to Lincoln Park and see him. I wish DePaul’s break schedule wasn’t so widely known, otherwise I’d go over and say that his classes were still going on, but I can’t.

After school on the last day before break, Lexie and Arizona meet me at my locker. “I was gonna go to the mall today to look for a Christmas present for Mark,” Lexie says, zipping and unzipping a small pocket on the strap of her backpack. “Wanna come?” I shrug a little bit, supporting my bag with my knee as I shove all the books I’ll need for the two weeks off inside. “I know you probably haven’t found a gift for Jackson yet.”

I dart my eyes over to her and then zip up my heavy bag. “I haven’t,” I say. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to get him. He already has everything.”

“Including your heart,” Lexie sings, and I smack her. “What? You know I love it. Seeing you like this is actually the reason I live.”

“Well, I’m glad,” I say, and lift my backpack up onto my shoulders. “Okay, I guess I can come. I just have to tell my sisters.”

I get the plans figured out and then the three of us make our way to a different bus that will take us to the mall. It’s not much, but it has the typical stores that we need even though I have no clue what I want to get him. I don’t have much money, but I want the gift to mean something.

We walk inside and I realize I’m being uncharacteristically quiet as Lexie and Arizona talk amongst themselves. I think about the CD Jackson made for me and how much it meant to him, and try to figure out what in my life means that much to me. Religion, no. I’m not getting him a rosary or something like that. I really like singing, but I’m not sure how to turn that into a gift.

I keep thinking for a while until it comes to me. “Guys, I’m gonna go to Barnes & Noble,” I say. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

They both give me a wave as they head off to Macy’s, and I find my way to the bookstore. Once I’m inside, I’m overwhelmed by the amount of books laid out in front of me. Admittedly, I don’t get out shopping much and Barnes & Noble is a treat that I only get to experience about once or twice a year. Mom and Dad prefer Christian bookstores, so the fact that I’m in here alone is enough to get me excited.

But I’m here for Jackson, not myself. Books mean as much to me as music does to him, and I want to give him that same piece of my heart.

I spend a long time going through the shelves and running my finger along the spines of the books packed tightly next to one another until I find the one that I want. It’s a book I’ve loved for a long time, and even though it might not be exactly Jackson’s taste, I want him to have this part of me.

I pull _Jane Eyre_ off the shelf and run my finger over the details of the cover, then hold it close to my chest on the way to the checkout counter. I pay for it and then head out of the store where I find a bench and sit down, pull out a pen, and write a message in the front cover.

I’m not sure what I want to say now that I’m met with the opportunity to say it. I chew on the cap and stare at the page with the pen poised above it, formulating the words in my head before I start to write. Finally, I decide on something and hope that it’s good enough.

_Jackson -_

_This book has gotten me through hard times and been with me through good times, just like you have. Music means alot to you, and you gave me that piece of you when we first met. Now, I want to give you this piece of me._

_Merry Christmas!_

_Love, April_

“Hey, we’ve been looking for you!” I hear a voice behind me and see Arizona and Lexie coming with bags in tow. “Outside the bookstore, typical.”

I smile and tuck the book back inside the brown paper bag that I got with it.

“What’d you get him?” Arizona asks, sitting down next to me and pulling the book back out from the bag. “ _Jane Eyre_ . You love _Jane Eyre_ , right?” I nod, and she goes to flip open the front cover, but I stop her.

“No, don’t,” I say, and gently take the book back from her. “I wrote something, it’s… it’s private.”

“Oh,” she says, smiling. “Right, right.”

Lexie rests her arm along the back of the bench behind my shoulders and leans forward to smile at the both of us. “I’m so happy for you, Apes,” she says. “You’re so happy. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“You never thought you would, just say it,” I say lightly.

“Whatever, that’s a lie,” Lexie says. “I think _you_ thought you’d never see it.” I shrug a little and look down at my knees. “You know you can talk to us about him, too, right? We’re not gonna go blabbing or anything.”

“We wouldn’t do that,” Arizona echoes.

“And you have to be bursting by now keeping all this juicy stuff inside,” Lexie says. “Have you guys…” She raises her eyebrows and it doesn’t take me long to realize what she means.

“No!” I say. “No. You’d know if I had, anyway. We haven’t… done anything like that.”

“Have you gone to second base?” Arizona asks, and I look away from her and back to Lexie with a puzzled expression on my face.

“Has he touched your boobs is what she means,” Lexie says, pursing her lips at our blonde friend.

I instinctively pull the book’s bag to my chest. “No,” I say.

“Damn,” Lexie says. “You guys have some God-given willpower, don’t you?” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I’m just kidding you. Whatever pace you go at is fine.”

“I don’t know many guys that can go three months without some heavy petting,” Arizona mutters.

“ _Please_ never say heavy petting again,” Lexie says, furrowing her dark eyebrows. “You grimy old man.”

Me and Arizona both laugh and Lexie shakes her head. I lean back against the bench and smile at my two friends as they continue to razz each other, and feel a warm sense of comfort in my gut just knowing that we’re spending time together and that they love me for who I am, no matter what.

\---

On Christmas, my family spends almost all day at church participating in our annual traditions. I enjoy seeing everyone who I’ve grown up around and helping out in the ways I know how, and my sisters are nicer to me than they’ve been in a while. Libby is, once again, home for the holiday, but I got my parents to give me my room back. She’s sleeping in the den, even though she’s not exactly happy about it.

I get new journal for Christmas; one with gold-plated pages and a thick brown cover with a ribbon bookmark that I love. It’s personalized with my initials, and my parents are so happy that I’m happy with it. Everyone loved their gifts this year - though we don’t exchange much, it’s always a nice time as we all sit around the tree and give what we can.

On the day after Christmas, time moves slowly and the book that I painstakingly wrapped for Jackson is sitting, waiting patiently under my bed for when I can go see him. My mom is at church, so I get dressed in a modest gray skirt, white tights and navy blue sweater and go talk to my dad where he’s shoveling snow outside.

I tuck my curled hair behind my ears as I pull on my winter hat with the pompom, and then step out into the harsh Chicago wind. “Daddy,” I call out, stepping down from the porch in my heavy winter boots. “Can I go over to Arizona’s and give her the gift I bought her?”

_Liar, liar._

He looks up at me, his eyes squinting under the flaps of his hat. “Sure, honey,” he says. “But don’t be gone long.”

I want to jump up and down with happiness, but I keep it together. “Thank you!” I shout, and then hurry back inside for my coat. I text Jackson that I’m headed over and he sends back a slew of excited emojis that I roll my eyes at as I head for the bus.

I trudge down the sidewalk through the unshoveled snow and make it to his apartment by noon. When I bluster in, bringing a bunch of extra snow with me, I let out a loud breath and smile when I see him.

“Why aren’t you with your family?” I ask, brushing myself off and stomping my boots.

“There’s only so much of them that I can take,” he says.

“I know what you mean,” I say, and pull out the wrapped present to set it on the table.

“Oh, is that for me?” he asks, giving me an excited look.

“Of course it is,” I say, and hang my coat up and take my boots off. “I mean, if you’re on the nice list. Are you?”

“I don’t know, am I?” he asks. “Hey. Come here. Who do you think you are coming in here without kissing me?” He pulls me closer by my waist and gives me a kiss that lasts for a long time, and I stand up on my tiptoes as electricity shoots through me. “Do you even know who Santa Claus is, Miss Jesus? Also, I like this outfit. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you out of uniform.”

I look down at myself and realize that he’s right. It’s not that exciting, just boring monochrome, but it makes me feel proud to know that he likes it.

“Of course I know who Santa is,” I say. “I have eyes.”

He adjusts my glasses to where I like them and rubs the tip of his nose against the tip of mine. “Sorry, you were on the naughty list this year,” he says. “So you don’t get any presents. You get coal.”  

My mouth falls open in mock surprise. “I’d be on the top of the nice list,” I say.

“Not according to jolly old St. Nick,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “He came in here last night and took your presents back.”

“Presents?” I ask, emphasizing the plural. “I… Jackson, I only got you one thing.”

He scoffs. “You didn’t have to get me _anything_. So don’t worry about it.” I scrunch up my lips and he gently knocks my jaw with his first knuckle. “Can I go first with opening?” he asks. “I’m kinda nervous about you opening yours, so if I have to run out of the house and escape, I want to at least have my present.”

I roll my eyes and sit down on the couch, bringing the present with me. “Sure,” I say, and hand it to him. “It’s not much. I mean, I hope you like it, but it’s not that-”

“Shush,” he says. “Jackson has the floor. Jackson is opening. The time for excuses is not now.”

I snort and watch him rip apart the paper that I had so carefully wrapped and then turn the book over so he can see the front. “ _Jane Eyre_ ,” he says, mostly to himself, then looks up at me. “A gothic novel. See, Apricot, I always knew you were emo.”

“Shut up,” I say, extending my arm. “Open the front. I wrote a note.”

He flips it open, reads for a second, and then gives me a warm smile. “I love it,” he says. “Jokes aside, thank you. I can’t wait to read it.” He leans forward and kisses me while holding my face in his hands. “Maybe you can read it _to_ me.”

“We’ll see,” I say. “Now, where’s mine?”

He chews on the inside of his lower lip and I see nervousness flit across his blue eyes. “Okay...” he says.

“What?” I ask, tucking one foot under me.

He stands up, goes into his room, and comes back with two small, wrapped packages. “I don’t know,” he says. “This is just… I’ve never freaked out about giving a gift before, so I’m not really sure what this is.” He hands me the presents. “Open the little one first. I just hope you like it. And if you don’t - that’s okay, too. I can return it. It’s not like-”

I hold my hand up. “April has the floor. April is opening.”

He laughs and relaxes against the back of the couch to watch me slowly unwrap the little box. Once all the paper is off, I lift open the lid and find a necklace settled on a plush cushion, waiting for me.

On a delicate silver chain, a pendant hangs right in the middle. There’s a hollow circle made of pink stone with a diamond nestled in the middle, sparkling in the low light of his living room.

Tears spring to my eyes. I’m afraid to touch it.

“The one on the outside, that pink?” he says, leaning closer. “That’s spinel. It’s supposed to have these powers, I don’t know. Superstition, I guess. But it’s supposed to protect the wearer from harm and soothe away sadness. That’s what the lady said. It also happens to be my birthstone, and the diamond in the middle - that’s your birthstone.”

I keep staring down at it, unable to believe that this is really for me. No one, ever, in my entire life has done something like this for me before.

“Jackson…” I say, and look up at him with glistening eyes. “This is so much.”

He smiles, one corner of his mouth pulling up before the other. “Do you like it?” he asks.

My hands are trembling. “I love it,” I say. “It’s beautiful, it’s so gorgeous… I’ve never had something like this before. You… how much did you spend? Jackson, you didn’t have to…”

“You don’t worry about how much it was, that doesn’t matter,” he says. “I loved doing it for you. Come here, let’s put it on you.” He takes the little box, unclasps the necklace from its place, and I discreetly take off my little cross that I got at my Confirmation and place it in my pocket. I swivel around and he puts the new necklace on, and the slightly heavier weight of it between my collarbones feels like it belongs there. I turn back around and he pulls down the collar of my sweater just a little. “It looks amazing on you,” he says.

“I’m never gonna take it off,” I say, touching it gently with my pointer finger.

He glances down at my lap, where the second gift still sits. “Okay, go ahead with that one,” he says.

I spend just as much time unwrapping it as I did with the last one, and I can tell it’s a CD before I even get all the paper off. The back is facing me though, so I turn it around once it’s unwrapped and see that he’s once again, written a message across the front in his boyish handwriting.

This time, the message says: _I really love you but I’m not good with words so here you go._

I stare down at the CD in my hands and inhale shakily, then look up to him to see that he's rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the gift in my hands.

I open my mouth and a tiny sound comes out, so I clear my throat and try again. “You love me?” I ask.

“I mean…” he trails off. “I thought it was pretty obvious, I don't know. Yes, of course I do. A lot. And I'm not expecting you to say it back or anything, I would never-”

“I love you, too,” I say, cutting him off. I set the CD off to the side and push myself up onto my knees so I can kiss him. A feeling stronger than any I've experienced before - even with him - takes over my body as I hold onto his head and kiss the life out of him.

He loves me.

And oh, I love him.

What I feel for Jackson is stronger than anything I've ever felt for anyone. I can't explain it with words, and sometimes my body doesn't know what to make of it - like right now. I feel like I might explode, my heart shooting right out of my body, just because of how much he makes me feel.

I pull back but don't move far; our foreheads stay pressed together and his breath is puffing onto my chin in short, uneven bursts. He runs his hands up my back over my sweater, and I lift one leg to straddle his hips and sit down facing him on his lap. I press my lips to his again and he runs his hands up my thighs until the hem of my skirt, and I find my hips keening forward in search of his touch.

My chest is heaving with excitement, and the clenched feeling between my legs is back. Lexie’s words run through my head: _he's turning you on._

Then Arizona’s come through: _have you gone to second base?_

There's no way I'm ready for the “home run,” if that's what going all the way is called. No way at all. But I think, no - I'm sure - that I'm ready for second base. I want him to touch me.

I pull my lips back from his and rest my weight back on his thighs, then pause with my hands touching the hem of my sweater. My pulse is beating a mile a minute and my fingers are trembling as my whole body hums with desire. I take in a steadying breath, close my eyes with focus, and then do it. I pull my sweater off over my head, toss it to the side, and sit topless in front of him - save for my light pink bra.

“April, if you're not re-”

“I am,” I say. “Just this. Not… you know, the whole - you know, all of it. But,” I take another cleansing breath. “I want this.” He's staring dead into my eyes, seemingly unable to glance lower - or maybe he thinks he shouldn't. “Jackson,” I say, caressing his face with the backs of my knuckles. “You can look at me.”

His eyes move from mine down lower in disjointed bursts, but he eventually makes it. Having him look at me in the manner that he is makes me experience something that I've never felt before; it makes me feel sexy.

He touches my bare sides and we settle against each other all over again, getting used to the feeling of skin on skin. As I open my mouth against his, he slips his tongue between my lips and tightens his fingers on my ribcage, and a tiny whimper escapes my throat as my hands wander his chest.

I grab two fistfuls of his shirt and tug gently, smiling against his mouth. “It's only fair,” I mutter, and he chuckles.

I pull his dark green shirt over his head and he dives for my mouth again once it's off. My hands are cautious and unsure as they travel the expanse of his sturdy shoulders; getting used to feeling his hot skin right under my hands is something completely new. I get more confident as the minutes tick by, slowly dragging my fingers down from his neck to his chest, and then even lower to flatten my palms over the pricks of his nipples.

In a fluid motion, we’re lying flat on the couch with his body resting in between my legs. His weight isn't unpleasant, and the pressure definitely isn't unwelcome as I feel his tongue on my neck and then lower to trace my collarbones.

I tip my chin up and realize that I'm panting, and I can't help the sound that escapes me when one of his hands tentatively slides up to cover my right breast.

I gasp and my torso goes rigid, so he immediately pulls back. “Was that not okay?” he asks, his eyes hooded with worry.

“Do it again,” I say, and pull his wrist back to where it had been. He smiles deviously and tightens his fingers over me, and I notice that I fit perfectly in his hand. I'm not very well-endowed and I probably never will be, but now I know that they're exactly the size they're supposed to be. Just big enough to fit in Jackson’s hands.

He moves his thumb in deft circles, which makes the heat between my thighs nearly unbearable. I clench his hips between my legs and arch my back off the couch, and he's only encouraged by the motion as he moans into my mouth and then kisses a path lower.

He squeezes my breast again which makes me press my lips together and let out a cry, then he puts his head near his hand and drags his teeth over the swell of skin that's not covered by material.

My eyes roll back in my head as he goes lower; kissing the flat plain in the middle of my chest and then tracing the V-shaped incline of the left side of my bra. He touches the tiny bow right in the middle, traces the underwire, and then opens his mouth at the apex of my ribs before licking a trail that leads lower.

My skirt sits right at my bellybutton, so he doesn't have far to go. He takes my hips in his hands and sits up a little bit, hunching over my body so he can keep the attention on the bare skin of my top half. When he flattens out again, his waist is in line with my own and I can feel something hard and insistent pressing against my inner thigh.

“Is the remote in your pocket or something?” I ask, hearing how breathless I sound.

“What?” he asks, pulling back.

“Did you put the remote in your pocket?” I ask again, reaching between us to his pocket area to figure out what's prodding me.

My hand ghosts over whatever it is, and Jackson jolts off of me like I've burned him. “Not the remote,” he says urgently. “Definitely not the remote, Jesus Christ.”

“Oh,” I say, knitting my eyebrows together. “Was that - _oh_.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

We sit there in silence for a second until an errant smile sneaks onto my lips. “You okay?” I ask, giggling.

“I'll get there,” he says.

“I'm sorry,” I say, turning towards him and feeling underdressed now, even though his shirt is still off, too. “I didn't mean to.”

“Never apologize,” he says. “You… you were amazing. You _are_ amazing.”

I smile. “Okay.”

I grab my sweater and pull it back on over my head, fluffing my hair once my head is out. “Guess what?” I ask, crawling over to him on the couch to drape my arms over his shoulders.

“What?” he asks.

I smirk and then peck him on the lips, feeling my new necklace dangle just slightly. “I love you.”


	8. Chapter 8

On New Year’s Eve, I’m sitting on the floor in the living room with my family watching Ryan Seacrest on TV. It’s 11:48pm - so close to 2018 - but I’m not very excited. 

I lean back against the couch and rub my eyes, letting a long breath out of my nose. Libby and Alice are laughing about something and elbowing each other up above me, Kimmie is painting her nails with her legs criss-crossed on the armchair to my left, and Mom and Dad are on the loveseat closest to the TV. Even in this room full of people I’ve known for my whole life, I feel completely alone. 

I sigh and plunk my chin down to rest in my palm. We had a nice dinner at church tonight and didn’t bother to change into pajamas when we got home, so I’m still in the skirt and sweater set that I wore there and I’m not comfortable at all. I just want this stupid ball to drop so I can go to bed. 

Alice nudges me with her foot as the clock ticks closer. “Why do you look so mad?” she asks. 

“Yeah, Duckie, this used to be your favorite thing,” Libby says.

“I’m fine,” I say, turning to listen to them as they talk and then looking back to the TV. “I’m just tired.” 

“It is late,” Dad says. “Just a few more minutes until 2018, though!” 

I raise my eyebrows in attempted enthusiasm and force a smile. Mom and Dad don’t notice my disingenuity though, and I join in with everyone when the countdown starts. 

“10, 9, 8, 7,” we begin, and I can’t help it - I match my sisters’ smiles as I glance around the room at them. They’re right, this did used to be one of my favorite things. The new year used to be such an exciting concept because I loved that I was ringing in a clean slate surrounded by the people I loved most. But now, the person who I love the most is missing. 

“6, 5, 4, 3…” 

Alice clasps both my hands as I reach behind my head in her direction and we shake each other’s arms as we count the rest of the way down. “2, 1! Happy new year!” 

We clap and give hugs all around, and Dad turns off the TV before the camera pans to show everyone in the crowd kissing. “Alright, 2018 angels,” he says, standing up and giving each of us a kiss on the head. “Time for bed.” 

We all get up from our spots and make our way upstairs, crowding the bathroom to brush our teeth and hair in front of the mirror. Kimmie elbows me accidentally-on-purpose as she swipes a comb down the middle of her part, and I shove her back with my shoulder. “Stop!” she says, and pushes me again. 

“You stop,” I say, and bump her with my hip. 

“Both of you, quit,” Libby says, pushing her way through us to get to the three-tiered medicine cabinet. “You’re such children.” 

“I’m not,” I say, shooting Kimmie a look. Alice busts up giggling as she sits on the closed toilet lid, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. 

“I’m not, either,” Kimmie retorts, and then kicks Alice’s shin. 

“Hey, what did I do?” Alice whines, and I push Kimmie away from her. 

“Don’t kick her,” I say, frowning. “Move. I have to spit.” 

“She was laughing,” Kimmie says.

“Because it’s funny,” Alice says. 

“Move! I have to spit!” I repeat, but Kimmie’s back is turned and her arm is still in my way. The toothpaste is burning my mouth, so I have no choice but to try my best and spit around her - and my aim isn’t the greatest.

“ _ April _ !” Kimmie shrieks, holding her toothpaste-covered wrist as far away from her as she can manage. “You’re so disgusting, oh my gosh! Get it off, get it off, get it off.” 

“She told you to move twice,” Libby points out, putting her hair up in a bun. 

“Yeah, see,” I say. 

“You don’t  _ spit  _ on people,” Kimmie says, turning on the faucet to rinse her arm off. 

“Didn’t mean to,” I say, and then Mom bursts into the bathroom with her hair in curlers and her thick white nightgown on, looking angry. 

“Girls,” she says. “It is late. Your father told you to go to bed - what is all this noise?” 

“April spit on me!” Kimmie pipes up.

Mom’s eyes flit to me. “April Ma-” 

“It was an accident,” I insist. 

“Kimmie wouldn’t move,” Alice chimes in, and I point at her in agreement. 

“See?” 

“All of you need to finish up in here right now, get to your rooms and pray. I mean it. I don’t want to hear any more speaking for the rest of the night.” We all stare at her for a long moment. “Get to it,” she says, and we all move again. 

I narrow my eyes at Kimmie as the four of us file out of the bathroom, and she gives me a last shove as she heads off to her own room. “Stop,” I hiss, and Libby walks between the two of us, headed downstairs to the den, before something new can start up.

“Leave it alone,” she says to the both of us, and we glower at each other but listen to her. 

I’m the last one in the hallway after everyone has retreated to their rooms, and I let out a long sigh as I turn my doorknob and open my door. I flick the light on and look up from the floor, only to almost turn around and run right back out because of how surprised I am. I gasp and hold my heart, and my back hits the wall because of how badly I jump.

“What are you doing here!?” I whisper harshly, shutting and locking my door behind me. 

Jackson is standing in the middle of the room with a wide, sly grin plastered on his face. “I wanted to kiss you at midnight,” he says, walking closer to me. “But I know where I’m not wanted…” 

“Shut up,” I say, and take his shirt collar in both of my hands so I can pull him down to my level and press my lips to his. He wraps his arms around the small of my back and lifts my heels off the floor as usual, and I smile against his mouth. “How did you get in here anyway?” 

He gives me a closed-lipped smile and gestures behind him. “The fire escape that leads right up to your window was pretty convenient,” he says. “And also really unsafe.” 

“What if it hadn’t been my window?” I whisper, circling my arms around his waist. “What if it had been one of my million sisters’?” 

“That I heard you fighting with, by the way,” he says. “You can get nasty. Never would’ve guessed.” 

I snort. “I’m not the nasty one,” I say. “That’s Kimmie. What if it had been her room?” 

“That was a chance I was willing to take,” he says. “Anyway, I looked in the window and saw that,” he points to the red notebook sitting on my desk. “And I knew it was the right room.” 

“You’re so creepy,” I say, my hands on his neck. 

“You love it,” he says, kissing me. “And you love me.” 

I tentatively skim my hands beneath his shirt, just a little bit, and touch his warm, bare skin. “Mm,” I hum, our lips pressed together. “Do I, though?” 

“It’s kinda insane how much,” he says, his lips on my jaw. 

I giggle and then push him away by his chest, realizing that I can’t let myself get carried away. My parents are right down the hall, and Kimmie is next door. If they found Jackson in my room…

I can’t even begin to think what might happen. 

“You have to go now,” I say, running my fingertips down his torso.

He glances around the room and his eyes land on my bureau. “I like your Jesus candle,” he says, his voice picking up the tone that it always gets when he’s playing with me. 

“Jackson.” 

He reaches over and picks it up, holding the tall shape gingerly in his hands. “He looks great here,” he says, pointing to the image on the front. 

“Put it down,” I say, unable to keep my giggles at bay. 

He does as I say and puts the candle back, only to turn his attention to my bed. He looks at me, eyes glinting, and covers his mouth with one hand in faux surprise. “Is this your nightgown?” he asks, picking up the pink one I had laid out for myself earlier. 

“Jackson,” I warn again. “I will yell for my dad.” 

“You wear a nightgown?” he asks, voice lilting. 

I scrunch up my lips to try to stop smiling. “I never want to see you again,” I say.

“Shut the hell up,” he says, holding my waist with my nightgown still in one hand. “It’s cute.” He kisses me and then pulls away to ask, “Don’t you get hot at night, though?” 

“No…” 

“How?” 

I pop my hip to one side and cross my arms. “How about we talk about  _ your _ sleepwear before you judge mine?” I say. 

“April,” he laughs. “I sleep naked.” 

My blush creeps up and I sputter for something to say. “Uh - oh…oh....” 

“I can show you-” 

“No,” I say, much too quickly. “Nope!” I push him backwards, hands flat on his chest, back towards the window that he came through. “Good _ night _ , Jackson.” I say, after he puts his coat on. 

He kisses me one last time. “Don’t you want this?” he asks, halfway out the window as he holds the nightgown up. 

I snatch it from him and shoot him a pretend glower. “Give that to me,” I whisper. “Get home safe. Text me when you get there. It’s dangerous out tonight.” 

He says he will, and I shut my window behind him to close out the freezing Chicago winter. I change into my pajamas, put my hair in a French braid, and then get under my covers with a smile on my face. I’m so happy that he was the last person I saw before 2018 officially starts tomorrow morning. 

My phone buzzes with a text and I pick it up from the nightstand. I look at the screen, eyes narrowed, and see that he’s sent me a picture of complete darkness.

**RECEIVED: 12:49am-** im home in my pjamas ;) 

I roll my eyes and smile, then take a picture of myself with the flash on - laying down, peace sign up, duck lips pushed out - and send it to him. 

**SENT: 12:51am-** me too. Good night, pervert. 

The next morning, I pick up my phone before I do anything else because I know I’ll have texts from Jackson waiting for me. I see that there’s one, so I open it and see a picture message. 

It’s a screenshot of his lock screen; I see the clock, his battery percentage and wifi, and something else too. The picture I sent him last night is plastered across the screen, and I look as stupid as ever. 

**SENT: 9:09am-** delete that. Jackson avery. Right now. Delete that!!!!!!!

**RECEIVED: 9:12am-** no fcking way

I pinch my lips together and tap the top of my phone while shaking my head. 

**SENT: 9:14am-** :P :P :P :P :P :P :P >:P >:P >:P 

**RECEIVED: 9:15am-** your use of emoticons baffles me

**SENT: 9:15am-** why!? What’s so wrong with :P ? 

**RECEIVED: 9:16am-** lol. No one else uses that. ur stuck in 2005

**SENT: 9:17am-** my clothes didnt tip you off to that before now???

**RECEIVED: 9:18am-** yoooooooooooooo. Actually more like 1900 judging by that nightie 

**SENT: 9:18am-** it’s called a nightGOWN. Not a nightie. 

**RECEIVED: 9:19am-** nightie ;) 

**SENT: 9:20am-** stop!!!!!

The next message he sends is the picture I sent him last night, and I shake my phone in mock frustration. 

**SENT: 9:22am-** you know what this means right

**RECEIVED: 9:22am-** pray tell

**RECEIVED: 9:22am-** speaking of which, i hope you said your prayers this morning miss jesus

**SENT: 9:23am-** i’m choosing to ignore that and this means that i need a picture of YOU that’s equally as embarrassing so you can’t blackmail me with that someday

**RECEIVED: 9:23am-** as usual, your wish is my commabd bible barbie 

I roll my eyes at his nickname and wait for a picture to come in, and burst into laughter once it does. He’s wrapped some sort of curtain around his shoulders and chest to look like my nightgown, and he’s posing just like the picture I sent him last night. 

**SENT: 9:27am-** oh my gosh, i hate this because you are so much prettier than me.

**RECEIVED: 9:27am-** l m f a o. Not even CLOSE

As I smile at my screen, I hear Mom’s voice calling from downstairs. “Girls, breakfast is ready!”

I put my phone back down on my nightstand and then walk downstairs in my nightgown and socks, hair sticking every which way out of my French braid. My sisters are in similar states of disarray, in their own versions of nightgowns and braids, as we all clamber down the stairs at once. 

There’s a bowl of oatmeal at each of our places at the table with a bowl of fruit in the middle. I sit down between Kimmie and our mom, and link their hands as we pray before we eat. Once we’re done, Mom asks us all how we slept and how fast we can get ready to be at church with her later this morning. 

During a lull in the conversation, Mom turns to me and gives me a small smile just because. I lean into the kiss she plants on my cheek, and when she pulls away I see her eyes rove down to my neck. 

I cover the necklace with my fingers, but it’s too late. 

“What’s that?” Mom asks, moving my wrist away. I don’t fight her. That’ll only make it worse. “Where’s your Confirmation cross?” 

“I… I…” I stammer, unused to having to think up intricate lies this quickly. I never thought she’d see the necklace; my school uniform covers it well and I almost never come downstairs in just my pajamas. My church dresses have high collars, too; it’s not hard to hide when I’m wearing the right clothes. But today, I’m not. My nightgown isn’t low-cut, but it has a scoop neck lined with light lace detail. The necklace is on full display. I should’ve realized, I should’ve taken it off, but I didn’t. 

And now I’m stuck. 

“I bought it,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth. “With my Christmas money.” 

She scrutinizes it, and I feel my sisters go silent as they wonder what’s going to happen to me. Mom picks up the delicate charm and rests it on the pads of her fingers as she looks at it, then says, “Hmm. Looks kind of cheap, honey.” She meets my eyes with a curt smile. “Well, you only got $40 for Christmas, so you did the best you could. But my advice would be to put your cross back on. In fact, I’d prefer if you did. That’s something you should always wear to keep God close to you.” 

I turn my shoulders away from her so the necklace drops from her hands. “Okay,” I peep submissively, even though I know that I won’t. My cross is hanging in my jewelry box, perfectly safe, but it’s not going back on my neck anytime soon. The necklace I’m wearing now means everything to me; I wouldn’t be able to bear parting with it. 

“Let me see it,” Kimmie says, and peers around the front of me. “Hmm.” 

“Doesn’t look cheap to me,” Alice says from across the table, leaning forward to see it closer. 

“What is that, garnet and some diamond imitation?” Libby asks, weighing in. 

My chest flushes. “It’s real diamond and spinel,” I say, knowing that I should keep my mouth shut. But I can’t. I want to stand up for this necklace and in turn, stand up for myself and Jackson.

“I’ve never heard of spinel,” Libby says, like she’s a prime jeweler. “And that’s not real diamond, Duckie. Not if you got it for $40.” 

“Spinel is one of the two birthstones for August,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek and holding the handle of my spoon tightly. “It protects the wearer from harm and can soothe away sadness.” 

Mom jumps in. “Oh, no, April,” she says. “No, no, no. I won’t hear any sort of black magic talk like that. You know we don’t believe in those types of things - that’s just wrong. That’s witchcraft.” 

I pinch my lips together and stare down at my oatmeal that I now have no appetite for. 

“So if you’re wearing it for any other reason than that it’s pretty, I’m going to have to confiscate it from you,” Mom says, looking at me pointedly. “Do you need to hand it over?” 

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not wearing it for those reasons. It’s just what I heard. It’s what the lady told me.” 

“You can’t let those thoughts infiltrate your mind,” Mom says. “All of those powers are held only by God; soothing away sadness and whatnot. You go to Him for peace, not some stone. He doesn’t like you believing in otherworldly powers, April. You know that. Don’t you?” 

“I know that,” I mutter, and twirl my spoon around in my bowl. 

“I know you do,” Mom says. “I shouldn’t have to remind you.” 

“Yes, mom,” I say, still unwilling to meet her eyes. Everyone finishes up their oatmeal quickly after, but mine grows congealed and sticky in my bowl. I throw it out in the trash and then go back to my room, where I find a white turtleneck sweater and put it on with a navy blue skirt, ready to head to church with my family. 

\---

“So my mom saw the necklace,” I say to Lexie, as I lay flat to try and bench-press during our conditioning unit. Break ended a couples days into the new year and we came back to school just today.

“How much do you want on here?” she asks, squatting down in front of the rack of weights. “Ten? Fifteen?” 

“I can barely do the bar,” I say. “Give me the tens.” 

She brings over two circular weights and puts one on each side of the bar, standing behind my head after they’re placed. “What did she say?” Lexie asks. “About the necklace.” 

I brace my hands shoulder-width apart on the cool metal and just rest them there for a second. “She wanted me to take it off and put my cross back on,” I say. 

Lexie snorts. “I can see you really took her words to heart.” 

The necklace is resting on my neck right now, under the collar of my gym t-shirt. I already spent a few giddy seconds showing it off to Lexie and Arizona right before this class. They’ve been the only people I can really talk to about Jackson - I have George, too, but with him it’s different. He’s a boy. Lexie and Arizona I’ve known for almost my whole life, and there’s almost nothing I don’t share with them. Lexie, especially. It took me a little longer to tell AZ, but I’m glad I did. Sometimes she gets a little too heavy in my business, but not terrible. 

“I’m not gonna take it off,” I say, engaging my biceps. I lift the bar from its holster and bring it down to my chest, muscles trembling the whole way. 

“God, you’re weak,” Lexie laughs, spotting me with one finger in the middle of my hands. 

“Not my fault,” I squelch, and straighten out my arms. 

“Where did you tell her you got it?” she asks, looking down at me. From this angle, her face is upside down and funny-looking. 

“Told her I bought it with my Christmas money,” I say, bringing the bar back down to my chest. “She said it made sense, because it looked cheap.” 

“Whoa,” she says, helping me lift the bar back up again. “Wait.” 

“Grey!” Mrs. Altman barks. “It’s called spotting, not assisting. They’re ten pound weights. She’s fine, let her lift.” 

Lexie raises her hands, palm up, in the air and leaves me to struggle for the rest of the reps. 

“She did not say it looks cheap,” Lexie says. “Like...say what you want about it being ‘wrong’ that it replaced your cross necklace, because that’s what your mom would think, but like… that necklace does not look cheap.” 

“It’s real diamond.” 

“It’s real diamond!” she repeats.

“And she told me that it’s witchcraft,” I say. 

“What, to wear necklaces that aren’t crosses?” she asks. 

I laugh and replace the bar back on the holster; my first turn is over. I stay laying flat on the bench with my legs on either side of it, feeling wiped out from just those ten lifts. “Kepner, form,” Mrs. Altman reminds me as she walks by, and I sit up straight like I should. 

“No, like… the powers spinel has or whatever,” I say. “I can see how she’s right, I really shouldn’t believe that, but…” 

“You can believe whatever you damn well want to,” Lexie says, taking my spot on the bench. “You don’t have to listen to your bible thumping mom.” 

I widen my eyes and stand where she had just stood. “Well… I - I kind of do,” I say. 

“Can you get me the twenties?” she asks, and I trudge over to the weight rack. I have to roll the twenty-pounders over to her and heave them with all my might up onto the bar, one by one. “And you really don’t. One of these days, you’re gonna have to have your own thought process. What about when you move out, go to DePaul?” 

“I was accepted,” I say.

“I know you were.” 

“Full ride,” I say.

Her eyes widen and she does her reps with ease. “Seriously?” she says, surprised. “And you’re just telling me this now? When did this happen?” 

“Last month,” I say. “I didn’t want to make it a big thing.” 

“You got a full ride scholarship, smartie pants,” Lexie says. “You’re allowed to make it a big thing. Things are allowed to be about you once in awhile, you know.” I shrug and rest back on my heels as she puts the bar back where it began. “Your turn again,” she says. “Just a question, what are you gonna do when your mom finds out about Jackson?” 

My mouth goes dry as I walk as slowly as I can back to lay down on the bench. “She’s not gonna find out,” I say. “Why would you say that?” 

She raises her eyebrows. “You guys have been together for like, three months now. He’s touched your boob, Apes. You let him touch your fucking boobs, so-”

“Lex, please. Oh, my gosh.” 

“Well, you did.” 

“Yeah, but… you don’t have to say it like that. Actually, you don’t have to say it at all.” 

“It’s a big thing!” she says, then glances down at my chest. “Well, two small things. But you know what I mean - a big deal.” 

I roll my eyes. “What’s your point?” 

“Are you guys gonna go all the way?” she asks blatantly. 

My face gets hot, and it’s not from the physical exertion. I haven’t even begun my second set of reps yet. “I - I don’t know,” I say. 

She nods, not pushing me any further. “I just think that maybe if you stood up to your mom, it might get you somewhere,” she says. 

“Yeah,” I say. “Somewhere, like my room for the rest of my life.” 

She snorts because she knows I’m not wrong. 

\---

On Valentine’s Day, I smile as I walk into school because of the slew of red and pink emojis that Jackson has blown up my phone with. It’s a Monday, so I’ll see him later today, but he just can’t resist. I keep rereading his text over and over again; it’s made me so giddy that I haven’t even thought of a response yet. 

**RECEIVED: 6:29am-** HAPPY VALENTINES DAY BABE!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

**RECEIVED: 6:29am-** i wrote a poem. u ready??

**RECEIVED: 6:30am-** your hair is red, your uniform is blue, youre my best friend and favorite person and I LOVE YOU!!!!!

**RECEIVED: 6:31-** cheesy af i know but i hope u like it. See u later :) 

“What are you so smiley for?” Lexie asks, sauntering up to me as I walk past the staircase. 

I look over at her and see that she’s beaming; eyes shining, eyebrows raised, a near-maniacal smile pulling on her lips. “More like what are  _ you _ so smiley for?” I counter back.

I look down at my phone again and type out a response. 

**SENT: 7:35am-** I love you so much Jackson <3 happy valentine’s <3 your poem should win a pulitzer.

“I’m about to barf from how cute that is,” Lexie says. 

I quickly turn my head to see that she was reading over my shoulder, so I click my phone’s screen off. “Mind your own business,” I say, but with a smile. She skips in front of me and then twirls in a circle, which sends her long ponytail spinning along with her. “What is  _ up _ with you?” I ask. 

“You’ll see…” 

“I’ll see?” I ask, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She giggles wildly and leads the way down the senior hallway, stopping at the locker next to mine as I put in my combination. She hasn’t taken her eyes off me yet, and I’m starting to get concerned as to what’s going on. 

“I seriously don’t-” I stop talking because when I open my locker, I’m met with a faceful of red and pink decorations plastered to the inside. I take a step back, cover my mouth and gasp as I take it all in. “What is this?!” I squeal. 

Lexie jumps up and down with giddy excitement, shrieking as she goes. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” she says. “From you-know-who.” 

My eyes widen and my chin juts out. “Wait, what?” I ask. “Jackson?” She nods vigorously. “How?” 

“Some secret communication,” she says. “We’re basically secret agents. All to make you happy. I came in extra early and did this, all at his direction of course.” 

I take a second and look at all they’ve teamed up and done. The inside of the door is wallpapered with pink construction paper and cutout red hearts. Candy hearts are glued in the middle of the paper hearts and the picture of Jackson with the curtain wrapped around him is at the very top, with the single selfie we have together under it. I’m in my uniform and he’s in a gray hoodie, my back to his chest with one of his arms around me to keep me close. Next to the photos is a packet of M&Ms taped up, which he knows are my favorite candy. 

“I can’t believe this,” I say. “Thank you, Lex. I don’t know what to say.” My eyes are welling up for the best reason. 

“You got a good one, Apes,” she says. “I’ll just say that much.” 

I turn back around to look at the decorations again, and I’m still smiling so hard that it’s starting to hurt my face. I touch my fingertips to my cheeks and think that this day can’t possibly go wrong when I hear a familiar laugh behind me. 

“Who the fuck would do this for  _ you _ ?” 

I look back slowly and see Callie standing there alongside Alex, and both of them are sizing up my locker. I quickly take the two photos down - I don’t want to give them any more ammunition than they already have - and try to stand my ground. 

Lexie opens her mouth to fight for me, but I get there first. I press my feet solidly into the ground and lock my knees, ready for anything she might throw back. I can do this. I’ve shouldered her abuse long enough.

“Someone likes me,” I say, and the strength of my voice surprises even myself. “I know that must be a strange concept to you, otherwise you wouldn’t be so dang rude to me all the time.” I let a short breath out of my nose and try to hide the fact that my legs are quavering. “Do you want to share some of my candy?” I pull the M&Ms down from where they’re taped and extend my hand to her. 

Callie stares at me with a look I can’t read, and I notice that her fist is bunched around something but I can’t quite tell what it is. For a terrifying second, I worry that she’s going to punch me, but all she does is stare. 

“She doesn’t want you candy, Fuckie,” Alex says. “It’s so sad when you have to decorate your own locker on V-Day. Honestly one of the saddest things I’ve seen you do, and this is you we’re talking about. Everything you do is sad.” He looks over to Callie for encouragement, but she gives him nothing. Now, she’s staring at a far-off spot in the hallway with her mouth pinched. 

“Let’s just go,” she says quietly. 

“You’re not worth it,” Alex calls over his shoulder as they walk away. I don’t pay attention to him, though. All I can think about is how I got Callie to back down all on my own after years of being tormented. All it took was a little backbone. 

Me and Lexie stand in silence until Mark sidles up next to us and starts talking right away. “I know you guys have never been cool with Torres, but I used to be friends with her. And I know when something is bothering her. What just happened?” We both look over at him. “Nice locker, by the way, Kepner.” 

I shrug a little bit. “I think I just stood up to her.” 

“She definitely did,” Lexie says. “And then offered her candy. It was the weirdest thing in the world.” 

I rip open the bag and dump a few into each of our hands. “Well, you pissed off Karev,” Mark says. “I could hear that much.”

“One step at a time,” Lexie says. 

“I guess,” I say, still stunned at what this day has turned out to be all before 8am. 

\---

I told Jackson no big gifts for this holiday, so I’m praying that the locker decoration is all that he has in mind. I never get time to myself to go shopping, so the best I could do for him was a handmade card that I spent hours perfecting. I used my best stationery, best pens, and best handwriting. I spent a long time thinking about what I should say - I didn’t really write a poem, it’s more like a little letter, but now I feel self-conscious that it might be too cheesy. 

I tuck it into my purse as I walk up the stairs to Jackson’s apartment, and open the door to find him at the table looking into a paper bag from a store. “What’s that?” I ask. 

He jumps and looks over at me with fear in his eyes. “Jesus, you’re sneaky,” he says. 

I take off my shoes and coat, hanging my purse off the back of a chair. “What is it?” I ask, coming up behind him and hugging his neck. I kiss his cheek and he reaches up and touches the side of my head as he leans into my hug. 

“Definitely not a Valentine’s present for my girlfriend,” he says. 

I feel warm all over. We don’t use labels for each other very often, but I always love it when he does. I’m his girlfriend. It still hardly feels real. 

“I have something for my boyfriend in my purse,” I say, lips moving against his temple. 

“He must be a lucky bastard,” Jackson says, running his hand down my arm. 

“He is,” I say. “Can I give it to you first? I’m worried it’s not enough.” 

“It’s enough, Apricot. It’d be enough if you filled a pillowcase with bars of soap and beat me with it.” 

“Quiet,” I say, smacking him before I walk over to my purse. I pull out the card and sit down at the table, sliding it across. “Made it myself.” 

He grins at the card, then up at me. “Look at this,” he says, taking it out of the envelope. “You’re smart, you sing, you’re beautiful, and you draw, too? Geez, you ass, leave some talent for me.” 

“Open it,” I say. 

He flips open the front cover and asks, “Will you read it out loud?” 

I groan. “Jackson…”

“Like the old days,” he insists. 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“It’s me,” he says. “And you know I can’t read, anyway. It’s part of your community service to read to me.” 

I snatch the card from him. “You’re insufferable,” I say, but clear my throat and start to read. “It's not every day that dreams come true. But that's exactly what happened when you came into my life… that day when time stopped and our story began,” I glance up at him to see that he’s wearing a cheesy smile. “Honestly, until that moment, I wasn't sure there was really someone out there for me... especially someone so fun, thoughtful, and interesting in every way. But there you were then, and here you are now… the one my heart's been waiting for. And though every day with you is even better than the last, I'll always remember the one when everything changed...that moment when my dream came wonderfully true… you.” 

His smile somehow grows even wider once I’m done reading and he closes the distance between us at the table so he can kiss me. “I wouldn’t have accepted anything less than how cheesy that was,” he says. “Cheesy, and I totally agree. If I could’ve written something like that, I would’ve. But the best I could do was the text poem this morning.” 

“And my freaking locker!” I say, smacking him as the memory rushes back. “I can’t believe you did all that. I’m never going to take it down. You made me feel…” I trail off. 

He takes my chin with his first finger and thumb. “What?”

“Special, I don’t know,” I say, and hold his wrist. “Thank you.” 

“Okay, okay, open mine,” he says, pushing the bag towards me. “I didn’t get a chance to wrap it. I literally just got back from The Book Cellar.”

“That’s fine,” I say, and pull a book out. I look at the cover to see that it’s a collection of Romantic Period poets, just like the ones we bonded over when we first met. “Speaking of the good old days…” I smile. 

“We were on the same wavelength,” he says, kissing me. “I flipped through it and bookmarked my favorites while I was on the train. Percy was all over my ass about it. I hope you like it.” 

“Of course I like it,” I say. “No, I love it.” 

We end up on the couch a few minutes later, Jackson flat on his back with me straddling his hips as I sit on his lower belly. I have my hands underneath his shirt, gripping the warm skin of his chest as I hungrily kiss him with everything I have. 

He tips his chin up and I move to his neck, and he slips his hands between us and squeezes both of my breasts over my shirt, which makes me moan against him. I take in a shaky breath and rest my forehead against his jaw, where I whisper, “I love you.” 

“I love you more,” he says, moving underneath my shirt to trace the band of my bra all the way around to the back. As his fingers dance over the clasp, I nod with my mouth slanted against his and he undoes it with a snap of his wrist. 

My bra falls forward but stays on because of the straps still over my shoulders, and Jackson tentatively reaches below the underwire and cups my bare breasts in his hands. I let out an airy gasp and push my hips against his to get some sort of friction that will quell the tugging feeling between my legs, and he tightens his grip on me. He rubs his thumbs over my nipples, which forces me to break my mouth apart from his to let my jaw hinge open from the feelings shooting through me. The pressure between my thighs is nearly unbearable with what he’s doing to me. 

“I can’t…” he says, but doesn’t finish his sentence. He flips us over so I’m flat on my back, and buries his face in my neck with one hand still inside my shirt, inside my bra. He opens his mouth on my skin and sucks a generous portion between his teeth - and not gently, either. I let out a peep and squeeze his torso between my thighs as my back arches up towards him. 

I’m breathing hard when he finally comes up, and he runs a finger over the spot where he’d just been.

“I was thinking,” I say. “My church is having this ice cream social thing that we do every year for Valentine’s Day later tonight.” 

“Mm-hmm,” he says, redirecting his attention back to my throat. “You’re thinking of this now.”

“Yeah,” I say, running my hands down his back as far as I can reach. “Would you wanna come?” 

He freezes and then lifts his head to look into my eyes. “To your church,” he states.

“Yeah.” 

“With your parents and sisters.” 

“Well...yeah,” I say. I hold his face in my hands and he pulls the remaining hand out of my shirt to support his body with it. “I want them to meet you, if only as the boy I tutor.” 

“Yeah, because tutoring’s been happening a lot lately,” he says, kissing me. 

“I’m serious,” I insist. “Lexie was talking about it awhile ago and I haven’t really been able to get it off my mind. I hate lying to them… I hate lying in general. And I still kind of would be, but at least they’d know who you are. And you could meet them.” 

He looks at me long and hard. “I’ve never gone to church, April,” he says. “It’s not my thing.” 

“It’s not church,” I say. “It’s ice cream. And I know ice cream’s your thing.” 

He smiles and sighs. “You really want me there?” he asks. “Like, really.” 

“Like, really,” I repeat. 

“Then I’ll be there,” he says. 

\---

My stomach is in knots as we walk up to my church - the path that I’ve walked so many times before and could do in my sleep without even trying, but now it feels completely new. Jackson is by my side. My boyfriend is walking next to me, about to walk through two huge double doors into a community of people who would die if they knew what I was really doing with him. 

I had called my parents and asked if Jackson could tag along. I told them I wanted to introduce them to this part of my life that I dedicate so much time to and yet they still haven’t gotten to see. I’ve been a bit distant with them lately, so I think they were happier than anything to see me opening up to them. They jumped at the chance for me to bring him. 

“Remember, you can’t touch me,” I say before we turn the corner to the church’s block. “Not at all. Not even a little.” 

“Damn…” he says, shaking his head. He put on nice clothes - dress pants and a light blue sweater that brings out his eyes - even though I had told him he didn’t need to dress up. “Not at all?"

“Not at all,” I say. 

His eyes rove all over me. “Fuck,” he says. 

“And no saying that,” I warn, my voice raising slightly in pitch. 

“No, I mean - fuck,” he says, then swipes my hair back over my shoulder. “Oh, no. Shit.  _ Shit _ .”

“What?” I panic. “What is it?” 

“You have a hickey,” he says, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, I gave you a hickey.” 

I touch the side of my neck and feel a tender, swollen spot. “What?” My mouth drops open and I press my palm tighter to it. Thinking quickly, I take off my backpack and pull my scarf out so I can wrap it around my neck. “I’ll just wear this,” I say “It’ll be fine… it’ll be… yeah. It’ll be okay.” He eyes me. “It’ll be  _ fine _ , Jackson,” I assure him. 

He darts his eyes nervously around and wrings his hands, which is something I’ve never seen him do before. I’ve never seen him this anxious. “Is that it?” he asks, nodding his head towards the church, and I feel his arm curl around the small of my back. 

I have to pull away, though. “I - you can’t,” I remind him gently. 

“Right,” he says. “Sorry. Habit.” 

I tuck my hair behind my ears and smile sweetly up at him. I love that it’s a habit, I can’t deny that. It just can’t be a habit around my family. “Yeah, that’s it,” I say, pointing just down the block.

“It’s huge,” he says. 

“Looks bigger on the outside,” I say. 

“Hmm, wouldn’t know the feeling,” he says under his breath. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

I take a steadying breath as we get to the top of the steps, and he does too. We share a look and then I push open the doors and walk inside with him close at my heels, and it doesn’t take long for me to spot my mom and dad. We lock eyes and they wave above the crowd, their eyes lingering heavily on Jackson. 

“That’s them?” he asks. 

“Uh-huh,” I reply. “We should go say hi.” I turn to him and say, barely moving my mouth, “You are my  _ student _ .”

“I know,” he says, equally as quiet. 

“Hey guys,” I say once we reach my parents. I’m the one speaking, but their eyes are burning into Jackson with plastered-on grins that are giving even me the creeps. “This is Jackson. Jackson, this is my mom, Karen, and my dad, Joe.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Mom says, unclasping her hands and outstretching one for him to shake, which he does. 

“Good to meet you, Jackson,” Dad says. “The elusive Jackson. April’s always off tutoring, but she rarely ever talks about it. It’s about time we saw what she’s been up to these last few months.” He heartily laughs, and Jackson joins in cautiously.

“I - yeah,” he says, smiling. 

“Is she helping you, dear?” Mom asks, and I look to Jackson for his response. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says confidently. “I got my first A in English last quarter all because of her. She’s taught me… a lot.” 

“That’s nice,” Mom says dryly. “That’s our smart little girl.” 

“So Jackson,” Dad chimes in. “Are you religious at all?” 

He shakes his head. “No, not really,” he says. “I think it’s cool and stuff, I just - never, my family never… we don’t go to church. We never have.” 

“It is cool,” Dad says. “Ever been in a church like this one before?” Jackson shakes his head again. “April’s been going to this church since she was born. Did you know that?” 

“No, sir,” Jackson says, holding his hands at waist-level. 

“Yep, that she did. You guys ever get into religion in school? I know you go to DePaul - would only make sense to do some Catholic studies.” 

“I mean - you can,” Jackson says. “You can take Catholic studies classes, but I don’t. Like I said, not religious.” 

Mom and Dad spend a second just staring at him uncomfortably. “You don’t have to be religious to go to DePaul,” I cut in.

“No, I know,” Dad says. “Just was curious, that’s all. If you’re ever interested, Jackson, you know who to come to.”

“Definitely,” Jackson says, forcing a smile. “Thanks.” 

“Anyway, enjoy the ice cream!” Mom says. 

“Thanks,” Jackson says again, and then the two of them walk away to socialize with one of their million friends from the congregation. “Oh, my god,” he says to me after they’ve gone. “Was that horrible?” 

“No,” I say. “They’re just like that.” 

“I felt like…” He wiggles his shoulders around. “I felt like they knew. And they hated me for it.” 

“They didn’t hate you,” I say. “How could someone hate you?” 

He looks off in the direction of my parents. “I don’t know, ask your mom and dad.” 

“Jackson,” I say, and pull him by the cuff of his sleeve off into a secluded hallway where it’s silent and there’s no around around but us. “Let me worry about them,” I say, tipping my chin up so I can rub the tip of my nose against his. “You don’t have to. They’re my problem.” 

“Your problems are my problems,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. 

“Just relax,” I say. “And enjoy the ice cream.” 

We walk out of the hallway and almost immediately run into Kimmie who’s passing by. “Hey, Duckie,” she says, then her eyes flit to Jackson. “Who’s that?” 

“My student,” I say, my tone clipped. 

She raises her eyebrows and pops her hips to one side. “Why is he here?” 

“I wanted him to come,” I say. “Tutoring is a big part of my life, and Mom and Dad wanted to meet him.”

“They’ve never said that.” 

“Well, I wanted them to meet him,” I say.

“Why?” she asks. 

“Can you just move?” I ask, then sigh vehemently. “Jackson, this is my little sister, Kimmie.” 

“Not that little,” she says. “I’m only two years younger than you.” 

“Kimmie, this is Jackson. My student.”

“Hey,” she says, then looks him up and down. I instantly feel territorial, so I take his wrist and lead us both away from her towards the ice cream. 

After the social is over, my family tells me to meet them outside so we can all ride home together. I tell them I’m going to walk Jackson out, and I take us out the side door that no one leaves from so I can give him a proper goodbye. 

“Thanks for coming tonight,” I whisper, winding my arms around his waist. “It meant a lot to me, even though it was weird.” 

“Of course,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Happy Valentine’s Day, valentine.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I say back, my voice soft and sweet. I press a gentle kiss to his lips and hold his cheeks in my hands, then we break apart and go our separate ways. 

\---

I’m in my room later that same night when it happens. 

I’m standing with my back to the door, standing in just my skirt, bra, and necklace as I’m in the process of changing into my pajamas. As I’m brushing out my hair, my door opens and I spin around to find Kimmie standing there with an empty tube of toothpaste in her hand, mouth open to say something, but nothing comes out. 

“What?” I spit. “Get out of my room.” 

She stands there gaping for a moment, and then the corners of her mouth turn up into a malevolent smile. 

“What?” I ask again, this time more on edge. 

“I see that,” she says, backing slowly out of my room. “I see what’s on your neck. You had your scarf on earlier - you were trying to hide it. But I see it, April.” This is the first time she’s called me by my actual time for as long as I can remember. “You have a hickey. And I’m telling Mom.” 


	9. Chapter 9

After Kimmie’s footsteps disappear down the stairs, I stand in the middle of my room and try to keep changing into my pajamas as my hands shake. I do my best with the clasp on Jackson’s necklace, and my breathing starts to get heavier and it feels like something huge is pressing down on my chest and preventing me from taking in a full breath. 

I give up on the necklace and grip my dresser so tightly that my fingers turn white. My arms are shaking so hard that the quavering travels to my shoulders and then down the rest of my body as I try to keep myself upright. 

Everything is ruined. Everything is ruined and it’ll all be gone in a matter of moments and there’s nothing I can do. I let down God, I let down my parents, and I let down Jackson. All of this is going to happen because I allowed myself to feel something for the first time. 

I can’t move. I can’t put a shirt on, I can’t do anything. I stay standing rooted in the same place just in my skirt, tights, bra and necklace, until I hear my name being called. It was inevitable, I knew that much. It was useless to go after my sister, it only would’ve made things worse. 

“April Kepner.” My mom’s voice is growing closer as she climbs the stairs, and I brace myself for the worst. For a fleeting second, even though it’s never happened before, I wonder if she plans on hitting me. 

When the door bursts open, Mom is standing there with her mouth in a straight line and her eyes burning with rage. She doesn’t say anything at first; she flicks on the light, stomps over to me, and pushes my hair away from my shoulder so she can see the evidence clearly. I watch her facial expression change from anger to shock to disappointment, back to blinding rage again all in a single moment. 

“Did the boy you tutor do this to you?” she asks, and I shrink away from her. 

“Mom-” 

“ _ Did he _ ?” 

The lack of an answer gives her everything she needs to know. My shoulders are still shaking as she rips Jackson’s necklace straight off of my neck. 

I gasp and grab for it, but she takes it too quickly. “I told you to take this off,” she growls, and curls her hand into a fist around it. “He gave it to you, didn’t he?” She doesn’t give me time to answer. “You will not be getting it back.” 

“That’s mine,” I say, voice trembling. 

“Put a shirt on,” she demands, as I stand there across from her with my chest heaving. I do as she says and pick back up the sweater I had on from earlier and slip it on over my head. “How long have you been lying to us?” she asks, raising her voice. 

I flinch at her tone. I’ve never felt so small in my life, not even under the thumbs of the bullies at school. More than anything, I want to think of something to say that will make her listen to me - make her see that what I feel for Jackson can’t be a sin if God could let me feel such wonderful things. But I know I’ll never be able to. 

“How long have you been seeing that boy?” she barks, spitting out the last two words. “And how dare you bring him to church knowing full well what you are to him?” 

My chin is trembling. “What do you mean, what I am to him?” I ask. “He loves me.” 

She scoffs and shakes her head. “Oh, April. He doesn’t love you.” I look at her with my teeth clenched together, fighting back imminent tears that I know will come anyway. “That’s Satan tricking you into a life of sin - and it worked, didn’t it?” She nods, validating herself. “Did he take your virginity?” she asks, whipping her head around. 

“No,” I counter back. 

“Well, that’s a blessing,” she says. “But are you lying to me?” 

“I’m not lying,” I say. 

“How long?” she asks again, and Libby and Kimmie appear in the hallway just outside my door, their interests piqued. 

“Get out!” I shriek, and slam the door shut so they can’t see in.

Mom is shaking her head at me, looking at me with wide eyes. “I don’t know you,” she says. “The April I know would never deliberately sin with an older boy and lie about it to not only her parents - but to God. You brought that boy into our place of worship - God’s home. You rubbed that smut in our faces and smiled about it.” 

“He has a  _ name _ ,” I insist. “And I hated lying, but he-” 

“If you hated lying as much as you say, you would’ve never done it,” she says. “There’s no argument there. You just wouldn’t have done it. I am so disappointed in you, April.” 

“You don’t understand,” I say, the tears starting to come now. “He makes me feel things, mom. I didn’t even know I could feel these things until-” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she says, teeth flashing. “I don’t want to hear what he’s done to you.” 

“I love him!” I argue, bunching my fingers into a fist and forcing my hand down. “He made me feel-” 

“The only man that should be making you feel anything at this time in your life is God. And when you’re older, your husband. And there’s no way someone like him could  _ ever _ be your husband,” she says. 

I bite down hard on my lower lip and taste my own tears. I have so much rage pent up inside me that I don’t have any idea where to put it - it just keeps bubbling and boiling and it’s about to spill over the edge. 

“How could you degrade yourself and the girl that your father and I have made, stoop so low to think that you have feelings for someone like him,” she states. 

“What do you mean  _ someone like him _ ?” I shriek. 

“You will not take that tone with me, young lady,” Mom says, her voice scarily low. “I will not be talked to in that manner.” She shakes her head and keeps her eyes heavy on me. “You won’t be seeing him anymore. You don’t need any more community service, and your tutoring is over. You’ll be coming home directly after school and the only other place you’ll go is church - when we go. You won’t be going anywhere on your own. Nowhere. Do you hear me? You are  _ done _ seeing this boy.”

I gasp for breath as I start to get hysterical. “You can’t do this,” I sputter. 

“Your sin has brought shame unto this family in the eyes of God,” she says. 

“Jackson is  _ kind _ ,” I insist. “He’s kind and wonderful and he sees me. He’s the first person in the world who’s ever seen me. And you’re just going to take it away? You’re going to take my happiness away from me?” I can’t help how high my voice is rising. I don’t have any control over myself. “I’m going to be 18 in two months and then I won’t have to listen to a word you say.” 

She takes two steps closer to me and I turn my head away. “You live under my roof,” she says. “And you will listen to me. I raised you better than this - I raised you better than being a common whore for someone who doesn’t even believe in God.” 

“How can you talk to me that way?” I sob, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “How can you be so horrible? Maybe  _ you’re _ the one sinning.” 

She stares daggers into me and then turns on her heel to storm out of my room. I know she’ll be back, so while she’s gone I fumble for my phone and dial Jackson’s number as best as I can with my trembling fingers. 

“Hey, Apric-” 

“They know,” I sob. “They know everything, my sister saw the hickey and she told my mom and now everything is wrong and ruined and I’m not going to be able to see you anymore. My family thinks I’m a huge sinner and they hate me and I’m not allowed to tutor anymore I can’t be with you, I can’t be with you…” 

“Wait, what?” he exclaims. “What are you talking about?” 

I try to catch my breath enough so I can speak intelligibly, but it’s nearly impossible. “My parents  _ know _ ,” I cry. “They’re banning me from seeing you. They’re saying I can’t see you. 

“They can’t do this,” he says. “They cannot do this. You’re not a child, they can’t keep you-”

I’m crying so hard that no sound is coming out. I’ve found a place sitting on the floor with my back rested against the footboard of my bed with my knees pulled up to my chest, squeezed in front of the radiator. “They can,” I say as best I can. “They are.” 

He sounds angrier than I’ve ever heard him. “Would they be saying this shit if I was white?” he spits. 

That makes me cry harder - that that’s the first thing he assumes. “They don’t like me with any boy,” I whimper, and hold the phone with both hands so it doesn’t rattle to the floor. “I don’t know when’s the next time I can see you. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know… I’ll figure it out, though, okay? I don’t know what I’m gonna do. But I’m so sorry and I love y-” 

The phone gets ripped out of my hands and I look up helplessly to see my dad hovering above me, looking just as angry as my mom beside him. 

“You won’t be getting this back,” he says, tightening his fingers around it. Before he leaves, he swipes my iPod and headphones from the top of my dresser, too.  “Get in bed and pray.” 

\---

I barely sleep that night, so when I go into school the next day I’m a shell of a person. In AP Bio, Lexie asks me what’s wrong but I can’t muster up the energy to tell her. I keep my head down and my eyes on my work, and barely speak. 

In gym, we’re working on the track and field unit which doesn’t involve any partner work. Alex and his gang don’t even bother me today; they have nothing to target. I’m morose, withdrawn and empty. I have nothing to look forward to. I feel like the brightest thing I had was stripped from me - ripped out of my hands like it was never mine to keep. 

I should’ve known better. That’s exactly right - he was never mine. It was too good to be true. I shouldn’t have let myself become so invested. It wasn’t fair to him or me. 

“Little red riding hood, what’s wrong?” Lexie asks as we sit at the lunch table. Everyone surrounding us is caught up in their own conversations, and I’ve been busy pulling apart my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

“Yeah, Red, you haven’t said a word all day,” Mark says. “I’m finding myself missing your little voice, which is strange.” 

I shake my head and keep my eyes down. I feel Lexie’s hand on my wrist and she lowers her head so she can see my face. “April…” she says gently. “What happened?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I say, and my voice breaks in the middle of my sentence. 

I push the sandwich shards away and wipe my fingertips on a napkin. “Is it Jackson?” Lexie asks, trying to keep her voice low. 

“I just don’t-” 

“Yes,” Alice cuts in. “She and Mom got into a huge fight last night. They were screaming at each other. Mom said that Duck-” 

“Shut up,” I say, hitting my palm against the tabletop. “Stay out of it, Alice.

Lexie closes her mouth and looks between Alice and me, knowing not to keep pushing the conversation. I see her nod out of my peripheral vision and then direct Mark’s attention away from me. 

During free period, I hear a tap on the door and see Lexie standing there, waving me out. I reluctantly get up from my AP Calc homework, open and shut the door quietly, and she dumps a fistful of assorted candy into my hand. 

“I twisted all the vending machines knobs until stuff came out,” she says. 

I look down and see Runts, Nerds, M&M’s, Skittles, Spree and a gumball. “You had a lucky run,” I say, and pick out an M&M first. 

“Hunt thinks I’m in the bathroom with female problems,” she says. “So he’ll never come looking for me. Let’s walk. Talk to me.” 

We walk through the hallway until we get to the library, where we find a place to sit in one of the back corners. We spend a few minutes just sitting next to each other not saying a word before anything happens. 

I take in a deep breath and pull back the collar of my shirt to expose the hickey that started it all. “Kimmie saw this,” I say, and Lexie gasps. “She told our mom, and my mom took away everything. I don’t have a phone, no iPod, and I’m done with tutoring. She said I can’t see him anymore. She said something really awful things to me, Lex.” 

Lexie’s fingers are moving, scrunching and balling into a fist. 

“She told me he doesn’t love me,” I say, my voice rising with the onset of tears. I look up at meet her gaze with glistening eyes. “She called me a common whore.” 

“She what?” Lexie spits. All I can do is nod. “She has no right to talk to you that way, she-”

“She took the necklace,” I say, and pull my collar down to reveal my Confirmation cross. “She ripped it off me. I don’t know where it is now.” I plant my elbows on my knees and cover my face with my hands as I start to cry. “She took him away from me, Lex. And I don’t know to do.” 

I feel her hand on my back as she tries to comfort me. “I’m so sorry, Apes,” she says. “We’ll figure something out. I promise. This isn’t gonna be forever. You know that, right?” 

I don’t respond. I just shake my head and keep my face covered as she rubs my back. 

“We’ll get through it,” she says. 

“They don’t look at me the same,” I say, lifting my head up and wiping beneath my eyes. “They think I’m a liar. But it wasn’t that… I’m not a liar. I just love him. That’s all. What’s so wrong with loving someone?” 

Lexie looks at me with a pained expression in her eyes. “Nothing,” she assures me. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And don’t let them make you think that there is.” 

\---

Two weeks pass.  

Two weeks where even though I feel tired and drained all day, I can’t sleep at night no matter how hard I try. I go through the motions automatically like I’ve been programmed to do without any feeling behind them whatsoever. I wake up, go to school, come home, do homework, pray and sleep. My friends are worried about me, but I can’t do anything to comfort them. At this point, I can’t even do anything to comfort myself. 

I haven’t been allowed to get my phone back, so there’s no way I can contact Jackson. I’m sure he’s tried to contact me, and that makes it worse. I hold onto the fact that I got to talk to him right as it happened so he doesn’t think I’m ignoring him of my own free will. 

I wonder how he’s doing on his schoolwork. Before the separation, we admittedly hadn’t spent enough time working on it. I don’t want him to fall behind, even though I know he’s capable of being successful without me. He just has to have confidence in his own writing, then he’ll be set. 

He doesn’t really need me, but I need him. When I’m with him, I feel like an entirely different person. I feel energized, excited, and hopeful for whatever life throws at me. Without him, I’m listless. And it’s not because I need a man to complete me or anything like that - it’s because I had found someone who brings out the best in me. I never even knew some of those facets of my persona existed, and with him - I met parts of myself that I’d never discovered before. And without the beacon of Jackson by my side, I’m worried those parts will stay buried forever. 

He makes me happy. So purely, innocently happy. And I can’t see why my parents would want to deprive me of that. 

Two weeks and two days after I’ve been banned from seeing him, we get home from church on a Wednesday night and I change into my nightgown and socks. I turn on my desk lamp and pull out my red notebook, ready to write one of my thousand journal entries from just this week alone. I tuck my hair behind my ears so it’s out of my face, then press the tip of my pen to the paper when I hear a strange tapping sound. 

I set my pen down and furrow my eyebrows, glancing around the room. I stand up from my chair and walk to my door, only to open it and find the hallway dark with no one standing on the other side. All of the bedroom doors are shut and my sisters are inside, still awake judging by the lines of light shining underneath, but definitely not tapping at my door. I look in my closet and find it the same as always, yet the sound happens again when I step back out into the main part of my room. 

“What in the…” I mutter to myself, and stand near my desk as I listen intently. I hear it again, and it sounds like it’s coming from outside the window. I wonder if the tree branch that’s been growing closer and closer to my room finally made it, so I pull back the curtains only to have the life scared out of me. 

I stumble backwards over my desk chair and onto the floor, where I stay with one hand over my heart because it’s  _ Jackson _ standing on the other side of the window, tapping softly with his fingernail. He smiles at my state of affairs and I pick myself up from the ground and heave the window open, then fling myself into his arms. 

“What are you doing here?” I whisper, my face in his neck. He smells so good. When I saw him everyday, I never appreciated just how good he smells. “Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stand another day without my girl,” he says, his arms so tight around me. We’re standing on opposite sides of my window with our torsos pressed right up against each other. 

“I missed you so much,” I say, unable to stop myself from crying as I press my face closer to him. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I’d never… I didn’t know when I’d see you again.” I pull away and hold his face in my hands, then kiss him for a long time - again and again, over and over. 

“Come out,” he says. 

I look behind me, even though my door is shut and my big light is off. “I can’t leave,” I say. 

“Up to the roof,” he says, nodding upwards. “I just need to be with you for a little while.” 

“Oh, okay,” I say. “Let me grab shoes.” I shove a pair of winter boots on and then go back to the window, gripping his hand tight as I step one foot out and then the other, leaving my window open just a crack behind us. 

He leads the rest of the way up the fire escape and I wrap my arms around myself once we get to the top, not realizing how harsh the early March wind would be. He takes off his winter coat and wraps it around my shoulders without even blinking an eye. 

“What about you?” I ask, huddling my arms close to my body. 

“I’m fine,” he says, pulling at his zip-up hoodie. “You’re little, I got muscle to keep me warm.” He wraps his arms around me and then presses his face to the side of my neck, just to rest there. “I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me.” 

“If I’d want you?” I ask, one of my hands on either side of his neck after he lifts his head. “Of course I want you. I missed you so much.” I kiss him with fervor, drinking him in like I haven’t been able to for the past 16 days. “I just couldn’t think of a way to see you,” I say. I hug him again and rest my cheek against his chest, where I can hear his heart thumping under my ear. “I’m so happy you’re here now.”

He frames my face in his hands and runs one thumb over my cheekbone. “How’ve you been?” he asks. “God, you’re beautiful. I haven’t seen you… it’s honestly catching me so off guard.” 

I smile, wide and toothy, in a way I haven’t smiled since the last time we were together. “I’ve been awful,” I say. “I’ve been living in a prison. They took my phone, your music, and the necklace… and they won’t let me see you. I don’t have anything I can hold onto.” 

“I can help,” he says, digging in his jeans pocket. He hands me an iPod with headphones wrapped around it and presses it deftly into my palm. “All the music is loaded on here, okay? I figured they’d take it from you. And I downloaded a texting app on there, too. I mean, it’s a shitty iPod Touch that I had in high school, but it’s something. I knew you needed something.” 

I stare down at it and close my fingers around it. “Thank you,” I say, my eyes lifting to meet his again. “I want things to be like they used to, back when it was easy.” 

“Me, too,” he says. “I’m sorry about the hickey. I should’ve known.” 

I shake my head. “I mean, something was bound to happen. It’s all Kimmie’s fault.” 

“What have you been doing the past couple weeks?” he asks.

“School, homework, church,” I say. “Not much else _ to _ do.” I pause for a second. “I got a full ride to DePaul though, next year.”

His eyes widen. “You did not,” he says. 

I nod. “I did,” I say. I actually found out while we were still allowed to see each other, but like I told Lexie - I hadn’t wanted to make it a big thing. Now, though, I want to tell him. 

“Holy shit,” he says, and latches his arms around my waist so he can lift me up off the ground and spin me around. “I’m so proud of you. That’s amazing, Apricot. I mean, you’re smart as hell, so I should’ve known. But that’s so awesome.” 

“Thanks,” I say, leaning into him as he kisses my cheek. “What have you been doing?” I ask. 

“Whining to Percy about how much I miss you,” he says. “Trying to do my best on school, but it’s been rough. American Lit has been hard without you. And trying to concentrate is shit. I can’t get anything done.” 

“I’m in the same boat,” I tell him, linking our hands together. “I’m not the same without you around.” 

We spend a moment just looking into each other’s eyes, and then he takes my chin in one hand and kisses me sweetly. The sweet kiss soon turns into more, though, as his arms slink around my back to rest on my butt, and I tilt my hips inward to press against his. “I miss you so much,” he says, speaking into my mouth. 

“You’re all I ever think about,” I say, gripping his shoulders tightly. 

He skims his hands up the sheeny material of my nightgown so his grip settles on my ribcage, and then breaks his lips apart from mine to rest his forehead against my own. “Don’t let them take you from me,” he whispers. 

“I won’t,” I say, then rest my palms on his chest. “I promise. I should probably go, though. I don’t want…” 

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to stay long. I just needed to see you.”

I kiss him fervently, eyebrows raised as I try to put everything I feel for him between our lips. “Come back,” I say. “When you can.” 

“I will,” he promises, as we climb down the fire escape together and stop at my window. I yank it back open, step inside, and take off his coat to give back to him. 

“Stay warm,” I say. “And text me later, after 9:30.” 

“I’ll do that,” he promises. 

“And Jackson?” I say, grabbing his wrist before he can start his descent down to ground-level. 

“Hmm?” he turns back, his blue eyes shining in the low light. 

“I love you.” 

\---

The next morning, I’m in a much better mood than usual because I know I can carry Jackson with me throughout the day. I get up early, sit cross-legged on my bed with my Bible on my lap and read some scripture until my alarm goes off, rocking side to side as I look forward to listening to Jackson’s music in bed later tonight. 

I wonder if he’ll stop by again. That would be even better. 

I get dressed and go downstairs with my travel Bible tucked under my arm, and sit down at the table with two pieces of toast. My mom is puttering about the kitchen and she gives me a smile as I sit down, so I give one back. I haven’t been either warm nor cold towards her these past couple weeks - I would never be outwardly obstinate to her, that’s not me. I just haven’t been my usual, bubbly self. Today is different though. 

“Hi, mom,” I say, and get up from the table to give her a hug. 

“Well, good morning, April,” she says, patting my back and giving me a kiss on the side of the head. “You’re up a little early.” 

“Yeah,” I say, and pat the cover of my Bible. “I was reading.” 

She beams at me. “That’s nice to hear,” she says. She sits down across from me with a bowl of oatmeal and sprinkles a little cinnamon on the top of it. “How’ve you been, honey? We haven’t had much of a chance to talk since everything happened.” 

“I’m okay,” I say. Yesterday, that would’ve been a lie. But now, I do feel like I’m going to be okay. Seeing Jackson gave me hope that we can do something to figure this out - something that makes everyone involved happy. I’m not sure what’ll happen yet, but I don’t feel so trapped and hopeless anymore. I’m almost 18. That has to count for something. 

“How are school and your friends?” she asks. 

“Good,” I say. “Just normal.”

“Good.” There’s a long pause between us, and then she takes in a deep breath. “I want you to know that I’m still proud of you, sweetheart,” she says. “That hasn’t changed. I don’t like what you did, but I can see that you’re on the right path now. And I’m so happy about that.” 

I smile and take the last bite of my toast. “Thanks, mom,” I say, then hear my sisters coming down the stairs. 

My mom I can deal with, but Kimmie I can’t. What she did is still unforgivable, even though I know that’s not what God wants me to think. I can barely look in her direction without wanting to scream at her and hurt her as badly as she hurt me. 

So when she slides in to sit down in the chair next to me, I get right up. “I’m going to head into school a little early today,” I say. 

Kimmie rolls her eyes and makes a disgusted sound. “Ugh, come on April,” she says. “Seriously? You’re still not talking to me.” 

“I’ll see you guys later,” I say, and put my black buckled shoes on. 

I head out the door without a formal goodbye from my sisters and head to the bus. Since Kimmie and Alice aren’t with me, once I sit down I pull the iPod Touch out from where it was buried deep within my backpack and plug my headphones in, leaning against the bus window to immerse myself in Jackson. 

I click on the “J Loves A” playlist that he so aptly named and press shuffle. The first song that comes on is ‘April in Paris’, sung by Etta James and Louis Armstrong, and the calm sultriness of it almost makes me melt right off the seat and onto the floor. As the song plays, I flip through the apps and find the way to message him. I type out a message and save it into the drafts so I can send it once I’m in wifi. 

**SENT: 7:12am-** good morning <3 i love you. 

I know he’s not awake yet anyway, so I click the phone’s screen off and stare out the window as the song continues to play, glancing down to see the title of the next one once it finishes. What comes on next is ‘She Is Love’ by Parachute, and I close my eyes to appreciate it.

When we get close to the school, my iPod connects to the wifi and the drafted message sends. It buzzes in my hand almost directly after as ‘Suzanne’ by Leonard Cohen is playing. I glance down and see that I have a text from Jackson and hurry towards the school so I can read and answer it. 

**RECEIVED: 7:32am** \- mornin beautiful. Im still thinking about last night, im so glad i got to see u 

**RECEIVED: 7:32am-** oh btw, i love you too. But you knew that 

**RECEIVED: 7:33am-** have a good day at school and give them hell 

**RECEIVED: 7:34am-** do u think itd be safe for me to stop by again tonite??? I dont think i can wait another 2 weeks to see ur face

I type a quick response before I walk through the front doors of DePaul Prep. 

**SENT: 7:35am-** come by tonight. At like 10. Everyone will be asleep

**SENT: 7:35am-** i have to go to school now. Have a good day <3 

Once I’m inside, I see that Arizona and Lexie are standing on the outskirts of the senior hallway, looking at new posters that were put up. Mark, George, and two of our other friends who we don’t see often - Amelia and Stephanie - are with them, all conversing about what the posters are advertising.

Prom. 

I saunter up to them, adjusting my backpack on my shoulders, and find a spot next to Lexie. “Hey, Apes,” she says, nodding at the poster. “It’s begun.” 

I sigh and raise my eyebrows. “Can’t be helped,” I say. 

“You going?” George asks, looking at me. 

Arizona answers for me. “She never goes to dances. I doubt her parents would even let her.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “Doubtful.” 

“I think we’ll be there this year,” Lexie says, grabbing Mark’s bicep and jiggling him. He goes along with it, unbothered. “It’s senior year. Apes, come on. You should think about it.” 

“Yeah… because that wouldn’t be sad at all. Me there alone with all you guys coupled up. No, thank you.” 

“Why would you be alone?” Lexie asks. “You have you-know-who.” 

I guffaw. “Yeah, right,” I say. “Like he’d ever… no way. And how would I even…? No way. It’s not worth it. I’ll just help you guys get ready and hang around for the stuff before the dance. And then I’ll go home and be a church mouse, as usual.” 

Lexie snorts and I stumble forward as someone shoves my backpack. At first I think it was one of my friends standing near me, but I turn around and I see that it was Alex, now halfway up the staircase behind us. 

“Why are you even bothering to look at that, Fuckie?” he spits. “The day someone takes you to prom would be the day that hell freezes over.” 

I chew on the inside of my cheek while flexing and unflexing my fingers. My chest starts to feel hot and tight as I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, wondering what I’ll do next. No one speaks for a good beat after he does, and I do something very stupid. I open my mouth. 

“For your information, I  _ am _ going,” I say. “That’s why I’m looking at the poster.” 

A malicious smile parts his lips. “That’ll be a sad sight,” he says. “Fuckie going stag.” 

“I’m not going stag,” I say, the pitch of my voice rising. “I’m going with someone. Someone asked me. I’m not going alone. I have a date. He doesn’t go to this school… he’s - he’s older. He goes to DePaul and… he wants to take me. So. Yes. I am going.” 

Alex stares at me for a second before he cracks up. “Okay, yeah, sure,” he says. “Sounds legit. Sounds real legit. Not like something you just pulled out of your ass at all.” He rolls his eyes and nods sarcastically. “Can’t wait to see you and your fake boyfriend at prom being virginal as all hell.” 

After he walks up the rest of the stairs, I’m left staring ahead with my group of friends staring at me. I shake my head at myself, knowing that I just dug a pit for myself that I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to get out of. 

\---

I don’t change into my pajamas tonight. I sit at the foot of my bed and wait with my toes barely touching the floor, legs bouncing in anticipation. My family is asleep - they usually always are by 9:30 - I can tell by the silence of the house that I’m the only one awake. I’m comforted by this fact; now all I need is Jackson to get here. 

I practically rocket off my bed when I see him appear outside my window - so fast that he doesn’t even have to tap. I shove my feet into my winter boots and throw on my coat so he can keep his, then heave open my window. 

“What’s the rush?” he asks, widening his eyes at my blustery behavior. 

“Just been waiting,” I say, taking his hand as I lead the way up to the roof. I sit down on the ledge with my feet hanging towards the inside, and he steps forward to stand between my legs. He cups my jaw in his hands and kisses me gently, and I squeeze his legs between my knees. “Today… I did something bad,” I admit. 

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes flashing. “How bad?” 

“Okay, you’re nasty,” I say, playfully shoving his chest. “For real. It was really bad. I was actually having a pretty okay day, had a nice little moment with my mom during breakfast and then I went to school and made a complete fool of myself.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t make a  _ fool _ of yourself,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“No,” I say. “I did. I really did. Even Lexie was like… what are you doing.” 

“So are you gonna tell me, or keep going on and on about it?” he asks, tracing one fingertip over my cheekbone. 

I sigh. “Prom posters went up. And I got to school and everyone was looking at them, so I went to join the crowd and, of course, Alex has to come up and ruin everything, calling me out and asking me why I’m looking if I’m not even gonna go. And I got mad and said of the first comeback that came to my head - which was to tell him that yes, I am going and yes, I do have a date. I just made up this whole thing on the spot and now I’m gonna look like a complete idiot when I don’t even show up for the stupid thing.” 

I look up at Jackson and see that he’s chuckling and his eyes are warm.

“What’s so funny?” I ask. “This is a real issue.”

“It’s not,” he says. “Because you do have a date to prom.” 

“Who?” I ask, flabbergasted. “You!? Yeah, right.” 

“Not yeah right,” he says. “Yes. Of course I’m your date. April, will you go to prom with me?” 

My mouth drops open as I shake my head. “Jackson, you don’t have to - you really, really don’t. I wasn’t hinting at all, I honestly wasn’t, you -” 

He cuts me off with a kiss, and I laugh against his lips. “I’m gonna ask you one more time,” he says, eyebrows raised when we pull apart. “Will you go to the prom with me, April?” 

I shake my head at him again and can’t help but smile. “Of course I will,” I say. “If I can find a way to make it there.”

“You worry about that, and I’ll worry about finding a tie that matches your dress.” 

I can’t help it, my stomach starts to jump. Prom is two months, in early May. I’ve never been to a school dance before, never had the experience of shopping for a dress or getting made-up and beautified with my friends. I’ve never been interested in going because I’ve never really had a reason to, but now I have the most beautiful boy on earth asking me to go with him. 

“Oh, my gosh,” I say, holding onto the front of his coat. “You’re really serious about this? Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been more sure,” he says. I stand up off the ledge and he picks me up by the waist, and we kiss with my feet lifted from the ground. “You’re gonna look so gorgeous. I can’t wait.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” I say. “I don’t even know if my parents will let me go.”

His face falls just a little bit and he sets me back down. “If they don’t,” he says. “We’ll just have to have our very own prom, right up here on your roof.” 

I giggle. “It might be a little cold.” 

“We’ll dress for the weather,” he assures me. 

I sigh contentedly then sit back down on the ledge, and Jackson joins me with his hip pressed to mine and our fingers interlocked. I rest my head on his shoulder and stare ahead into the inky black neighborhood, just enjoying breathing with him next to me. “How did I get you?” I ask, after a long period of silence. 

“You were forced to,” he says. “You didn’t really have much choice in the matter.” 

“Yeah, but you know what I mean,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I could’ve been assigned anyone to tutor. I’m sure there are more people than just you who need help with writing. But I got you.” 

“More like I got  _ you _ ,” he says. “I’m the lucky one here.” 

I scoff. “A lot of people would disagree,” I point out. 

“Well, fuck them,” he says. 

I untangle my fingers from his and rub my palm absentmindedly up and down his thigh. “You’re the only one in the whole world who’s ever seen me,” I say quietly. “Do you know that?” 

“Maybe everyone else is just blind,” he says. “Because you light up a room.” 

I make a small noise. “Just to you,” I say. 

“Good,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head. “No one else deserves to see that shine. Not in a creepy way. Not like, I’m gonna hoard you and kidnap you and store you in my basement kind of way.” 

“Shut up,” I say, bumping him with my shoulder. “You just ruined it.” 

“Seriously, though,” he says. “I’ve never been with a girl like you before, ever. Girls like me because they think I’m hot and that’s all they see. I know that sounds so fucking egotistical, like poor me, I’m sexy! But I’m being real, like… you’re not like that. At all. You actually listen to the weird shit I have to say, and you like my music and you just… you like me being me. And not some persona that I put on.” 

“I don’t even get how other girls think you’re hot,” I say, shrugging. “I honestly don’t see it.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says, jostling me. “Ha-ha.” 

I laugh. “I guess we were kind of made for each other,” I say. “I really think that. So that’s why I want to know… why does God want us to be apart so badly?” 

He takes a long time to reply. “I don’t really know if I have an answer for that,” he says. “I can’t wrap my head around it that way because I don’t believe like you. You have so much faith and I… I don’t know how you do that.” 

“So you think that the reason we can’t be together is because it just  _ is _ that way?” I ask, my voice still soft. He nods halfheartedly, shrugging a little. “See, I don’t know how you do that.” 

“Well, and your parents,” he says. 

“But like over them,” I say. “They’re that way because of God.” 

He winds one arm around me and rubs my opposite shoulder. “Right,” he says. “I just don’t know. I just know that we’ll figure something out. I can promise you that.” 

\---

Two weekends later, I’m riding in the van with my mom - alone for the first time for as long as I can remember. I don’t get quality time with her very often, but we’ve just finished running errands for church and are headed back to the house in a ride that’ll last about thirty more minutes. 

She’s playing some gospel music on the radio and I’m trying to find a way to bring up the subject of prom in a way that won’t start a fight. Things between us are just starting to be okay again, and I don’t want to ruin them, but I also really need to ask her. Prom isn’t for another month and a half or so, but I have to know. 

I stare out the window at the buildings passing by and cross my left leg over my right, jiggling my foot as we drive along. She’s humming along to the music and I take in a deep breath, knowing that if there’s any time to ask, it’s now. 

“Mom?” I ask, my voice cutting through the song. 

She reaches over and turns the volume dial down. “Yeah, honey?” 

“I…” I take in a deep breath and let it out in a big, shaky gust. “I really wanna ask you something.” 

“Ask away,” she says, flicking on the turn signal as we wait in the left turn lane. 

“Um,” I stammer, pinching the fabric of my tights over my knee. “Prom is coming up at school. In May. And… I know I’m grounded. I really know that, I’m not trying to get out of that or anything. And I would normally not even care about going, except that it’s my senior prom. And I really want to make it to this one. Just as like, one last thing in high school to do before I’m officially done.” 

There. It’s out in the open, not just in my head anymore. Now there’s nothing I can do to take it back or change what I’ve said. It’s hers now. 

She takes a long time to even open her mouth, which makes me nearly explode with anxiety. “Absolutely not,” she finally says, keeping her eyes on the road. “You haven’t even been grounded for two whole months.”

I open my mouth to refute her, but know I’m better off keeping quiet. My stomach sinks. I tell myself that at least I tried, and that’s the best I could do. 

We drive for about fifteen more minutes before she speaks again. “April, I… I just don’t know how I feel about you going to this thing. I know how school dances can get.” 

I concentrate hard on the dashboard and piece my words together carefully. “I know I haven’t been grounded that long,” I say. “I just… I’m asking you to trust me. This is something special that I really want to do, and I’ve missed out on stuff like this for my whole high school career. And I don’t want to miss out on this. I can be my own person, mom. Please let me be my own person. It’s just one dance, one night.” 

She pinches her lips and tightens her grip on the steering wheel. “You’ll have to let me think about it,” she says. “And talk it over with your father to see what he thinks. I can’t give you an answer right now.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent; the gospel music stays turned down so the sounds of the car and traffic are the only things I can hear. I run the cotton fabric of my skirt between my fingers and wonder what could happen now, if it was even worth it to ask. I don’t want to have dug a deeper hole for myself, that’s the last thing I need right now. 

When we get home, I retreat to my room and get out my homework. I put on a pair of slippers and sit at my desk, gnawing on the eraser of my pencil as I try to make the letters on the page mean something. But with the thought that my mom and dad are indefinitely talking about my prom plans just a floor beneath me is enough to distract from the simplest of tasks. 

I can’t get anything done. I debate pulling out the iPod Touch and busying my mind with music, but I don’t want to be caught with it. That would  _ really _ ruin everything. 

Me and my sisters are called down for dinner, and I sit at the table with my family grasping their hands in prayer, wondering if Mom and Dad feel the elephant in the room, too. I don’t think they do. It’s just me. I eat silently, responding with ease when I need to, and then help clean up afterwards because it’s my turn. Kimmie and Alice go up to their rooms and I’m left alone in the kitchen with my parents, wondering if they’re going to start talking soon. 

They don’t, though. They make light conversation about dinner and how good it was per usual, how the dishwasher never gets rice off the pots, and how daylight savings is coming up. I want to bring the topic up myself, but I don’t dare. I don’t want to push. If they’re teetering on the edge of deciding, I don’t want to influence them the wrong way. 

So after the kitchen is cleaned, I go back up to my room and get into my nightgown. I sit on the edge of my bed and write two full pages in my little red journal and then go to bed with no answer.

My answer doesn’t come until the end of that week on Friday, when I hear a slight knock before my door creaks open. When I look up, I see that it’s my mom with two mugs in her hands. 

I scoot over on my bed and make room for her to sit down next to me. She hands me a mug of hot cocoa and I smile over the lip of it as I take a tiny sip. 

“I know you’ve been waiting for an answer,” she says. “I know you wanted to ask all week, but you didn’t. Because you’ve always been my patient one.” 

I give her a small smile and situate my grip on the mug’s handle. She takes in a deep, steadying breath to keep talking. 

“It’s scary for me to see you spreading your wings,” she begins, looking down at the floor. I don’t know what she’s going to say next, and I get so nervous that I can’t look at her. I stare down at the slippers on my feet and listen to the rest of what she has to say. “I’ve never had to worry about you. You’ve always been my good one - the one always following God’s path in His light. Ever since you were a little girl, you were so easy. You never cried, never talked back, you always did as you were told.” She pauses for a moment. “While I don’t condone what you did, it’s obvious that you’ve repented. You’ve redeemed yourself not only in mine and your father’s eyes, but God’s eyes, too.” She takes in a deep breath. “And you’re still my good one, Duckie. You always will be. It’s not fair to expect perfection out of you - the only perfect one is God, you and I both know that. And after some discussion and some prayer, your father and I decided that we’re going to allow you to go to your prom.” 

I gasp and turn towards her and see that her eyes are glistening with the onset of tears, so I set my mug down and throw my arms around her in a huge hug. “Thank you, mom,” I say. “Thank you so much.” 

“Obviously no boys,” she says. “And I’ve already called Lexie’s mom and cleared you spending the night over there after the dance. It’s closer to the school and safer.” She holds me at arm’s length and looks at me with a sad smile on her face, one that I’ve never seen her wear before. 

“What?” I ask, feeling tears prick the backs of my eyes.

She shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “You’re just growing up on me.” 


	10. Chapter 10

For my birthday, my mom takes me shopping for a prom dress. It’s the first time I’ve ever done something like this, so it’s a completely new world for me. We walk into David’s Bridal and I’m instantly overcome with all the options covering almost every single inch of the store. 

“Whoa,” I say aloud. 

I look over to Lexie, who I was allowed to bring along just because it’s my birthday. She already has her dress - she bought it last weekend. It’s long and black with flower detailing on the skirt; the neck is a little low for what I’d wear myself, but she makes it work. 

“It seems like a lot,” she says to both me and my mom. “But all you have to do is find what you like. It’ll be less than you think.” 

We branch off in three different directions by ourselves. I lose myself in the pinks and golds, but Lexie tugs my arm away after she sees what colors I’m looking at. 

“Get away from the blush,” she says. “It’s gonna wash you out with your red hair.”

“Oh,” I say, letting a long skirt drop from my fingers. 

“Purple, blue and green are your friends,” she says, showing me a rack specified to those colors. “They’ll bring out your hair and your eyes.” 

“How about this one?” Mom asks, holding up a gray dress with a bolero. 

I shake my head. “No, mom.” 

Lexie narrows her eyes and whispers, “Why is she in the mother of the bride section?” 

I sigh and raise my eyebrows. “Just let her be,” I say. “I’ll try on whatever she gives me, but I am picking this dress myself if it’s the last thing I do.” 

Once we’ve finished scouring the whole store for what I might be able to wear, Mom and Lexie sit outside the fitting room on two plush chairs while I try on dress after dress. I come out with each one, trying on Mom’s pile first so I can get them out of the way. Obviously, none of them work because they’re all too big and the seams hit my body in weird places because I’m 17, not 55. 

No, I’m 18. I’m 18 now. Still not 55, though. 

As I try on the ones that Lexie gathered for me, my mom’s eyes practically bug out of her head. Lexie’s style is much different than mine, complete with plunging necklines, open backs and slits up the leg. Mom shakes her head at every single dress I come out in, though I can’t help but feel kind of sexy in some of them, even though I know they’d never fly. 

My pile goes last. Much to Lexie’s annoyance, I picked out two blush ones and try them on even against her advice. I step out and Lexie’s face scrunches up and Mom has a deadpan expression on hers. 

“Bad color,” Mom says. 

“ _ Thank _ you,” Lexie says. “She just can’t stay away from that pink. Apes, it just doesn’t go with your hair. It’s not meant to be. Accept it, move on.”

I sigh and hold the back of the dress together as I turn to look in the mirror. “Orphan Annie wore pink,” I say pitifully.

“She did not,” Lexie says. “She wore red. You've never seen that movie.”

“And you’re not wearing red,” Mom cuts in.

I grumble under my breath and retreat back into the changing room, where I come out in countless more dresses, ranging from indigo to yellow to burgundy. Nothing flies with those two until I pick the last one in my pile, one that I forgot that I even picked up. 

It’s mint green with a high neck and a modest back. The top is covered with silver applique and encircled around the waist are dainty pearls and diamonds. I unzip it carefully, step in, and then open the door to show it off. 

“See, this is the color I’m talking about,” Lexie says, nodding her approval. “Your hair looks amazing against that.” She stands, zips me up in the back, and then goes and sits back down next to my mom. “Do you like it?” 

I stand in the mirror and smooth my hands down my waist. “I think it’s the one,” I say, doing my best to contain the excitement that twirls in my gut as I think of what Jackson will think of it. “Do you like it, mom?” 

“It’s very nice,” she says. “I do wish there was a little shoulder cover, but… it’s better than some of the other ones you tried on.” 

“She can’t wear a bolero to prom, Mrs. Kepner,” Lexie says, looking pointedly at my mom. 

I giggle a little bit and then do one more spin. “So this is it?” I ask. “Can I get it, mom?” 

She looks at the price tag and then back up at my beaming face. “Sure,” she says. “Happy birthday, honey.” 

That night when we get home, I have cake and ice cream with my family after dinner. It’s double chocolate, which is my favorite, and no one fights. I actually have a nice time for the first time in a while with everyone all in one place. 

“I can’t believe you’re the big 18,” Dad says, taking a sip of milk. “It seems like just yesterday that you were learning how to walk.” 

“I miss those chubby cheeks!” Mom squeals, and I smile and roll my eyes. “And those chubby legs, oh my goodness.” 

Per tradition, baby, toddler and little kid pictures are laid out on the table in celebration of me. When we’re cleaning up the table, mom gathers them into a pile and hands it to me so I can take them up to my room when it’s time to go to bed. 

“I remember when your hair started to turn red,” Mom says. “When you were born, you were as bald as the day is long. We thought you might even turn out to be blonde, we just didn’t know.” I rest with the small of my back against the kitchen island. “And the day that it started to sprout red, your daddy and I just started laughing! I mean, we should’ve known. Libby’s was already a fire engine by the time she was two, it just took some time. You were the prettiest little baby, April!” She frames my face in one hand and then opens the dishwasher. “And you grew into the most polite child and the smartest and most Godly teenager. We’re so lucky to have you.” She turns back around and kisses my forehead. 

“Happy 18th birthday, sweetheart,” Dad chimes in, and gives me a big hug. 

“Thanks, you guys,” I say, grinning. “Thanks for all you did for me. The cake was delicious, the pictures are always great and mom, the dress. Thank you so much.” 

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she says, and then they both bid me goodnight. 

I go upstairs and close the door to my room, then flick on the light to see something at the end of my bed. I set the pictures down and walk towards it, discovering that it’s a gift for me with a yellow ribbon wrapped around it and a handwritten note on top. 

I pick the piece of paper off and read it to myself. 

_ April-  _

_ I was here earlier and wanted to stay, but heard the birthday celebration going on downstairs and didn’t want to get you in trouble. Sounded like you were having fun. So I just dropped off these gifts for you, hope you like them.  _

_ I love you so much and I hope you have an amazing bday… i’ll see you soon.  _

_ CAN’T WAIT FOR PROM ON SATURDAY! _

_ Anyway i love you and happy birthday baby. Love, jackson  _

I look at the two sloppily wrapped gifts and unwrap the bottom one first to see that it’s Poltergeist on DVD. I smile at it and crack the case open, and a small sheet of paper falls out that reads:  _ from the night i first kissed you and i’m pretty sure time stopped. _

I stare at his handwriting and then fold the note into a tiny square that I tuck under my pillow to save. I open the next gift that was on top of it and see Hannah Montana’s face. It’s her first CD - the one that I had been dying for when I was a kid. There’s another note, and it says:  _ i remember how you said that you wanted the cd with her face on it and i found this at a consignment shop. I couldn’t not get it for you. I hope it’s as amazing as you thought it would be when you were little. I think you’re pretty amazing, by the way. _

I pull out the iPod Touch and text him as fast as I can. 

**SENT: 8:48pm-** I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!! Thank you for the gifts!!!!! I love love love love you!!!!! 

**RECEIVED: 8:54pm-** u got them?! I had to be super sneaky to get in that window n then back out lol. 

**SENT: 8:55pm-** you are sooooooo sneaky. I wish i could’ve seen you though :P 

**RECEIVED: 8:56pm-** still. Sounded like u were having a nice time w ur family :) 

**SENT: 8:56pm-** yeah. For once :P hey, i have some pictures i wanna show you! For every birthday, mom always puts out baby pictures of us and i thought you’d want to see some of these…

**RECEIVED: 8:57pm-** yes PLEASE

I get comfortable on my bed and fan the pictures out so I can take photos of them. The first one I send him is one of me at about three or four years old around Christmastime - sitting in a tiny rocking chair made just for me. I have my hands on my lap, hair pulled half back from my face, decked out in a red dress with a puppy sewn on the front. I have a devious smile on my face for no apparent reason. 

**RECEIVED: 9:00pm-** sly asshole. Jesus ur cute. What happened?

**SENT: 9:00pm-** :P shut up. 

The next picture I send is me with a small, colorful quilt over my head with my hands clasped at my chest, eyes closed with a smile that was supposed to be serene across my face. 

**RECEIVED: 9:02pm-** pls tell me ur not being the virgin mary

**SENT: 9:02pm-** i’m totally being the Virgin Mary. i was her every year for the Christmas pageant until I got too old!!

**RECEIVED: 9:03pm-** typical

The next photo is me taking a nap on our couch, face pressed into the back cushion so only half of it is visible to the camera. I’m covered in an afghan that my great-grandma made and I have a stuffed doll tucked in close to my back and a colorful pillow tucked in next to her. 

**RECEIVED: 9:04pm-** were u a big comfy couch fan???? 

**SENT: 9:04pm-** ??? what’s that? 

**RECEIVED: 9:04pm-** a show!! That doll thats behind you is from it, thought u’d know her

**SENT: 9:04pm-** oh…. gosh …. I didnt ever know what that doll was from. We got her from goodwill and i never let her out of my sight. I had no idea she was from a show!!!!!

**RECEIVED: 9:05pm-** again, typical 

I giggle to myself and send one last picture, which is me dressed in a white dress with cherries printed on it, wearing a floppy jean hat with a pink flower on it. At about three years old, I’m trying to smile at the camera but it’s coming off as more of a pained grimace. 

**RECEIVED: 9:06pm-** u still make that face. To me mostly. Daily

**SENT: 9:06pm-** that’s because you deserve it! 

**RECEIVED: 9:07pm-** what? Who? Me? The picture of innocence? I deserve love and kindness only

**SENT: 9:07pm-** i am the PICTURE of love and kindness

**RECEIVED: 9:08pm-** yeah thats wht u want ppl to think………………..

**SENT: 9:08pm-** you think you’re soooooo funny. 

**RECEIVED: 9:08pm-** *****know

**SENT: 9:09pm-** what??

**RECEIVED: 9:09pm-** i KNO im so funny. Tyvm 

I change into my nightgown and hole up under my covers with the headphones so I can fall asleep listening to the ‘J Loves A’ playlist like usual. I put the earphones in, tuck my legs up to my chest, and pull the messages screen back up. 

**SENT: 9:16pm-** i’m gonna try to fall asleep now. Listening to the music you gave me  <3 will you stop by tomorrow? I really miss you. 

**RECEIVED: 9:17pm-** sounds good. Ill be there at 10 once everyones asleep. Gn apricot, i love you

**SENT: 9:17pm-** goodnight, i love you!!!!

As I’m walking out of school the next day, my mind is busy thinking about the fact that I’ll get to see Jackson later. The whole school is abuzz with prom preparation, and for the first time I’m caught up in it and excited, too. It’s a nice feeling to be included. I’ve never experienced it before. 

As I’m passing the staircase, George catches up with me. “You getting excited for Saturday?” he asks. 

I nod with enthusiasm. “Definitely,” I say. “A little nervous, too.” 

The last part is honest. I’ve never been to a dance before, and I’m not really sure what to expect. Especially with Jackson, everything will be new and different. People will be looking at us, and I’m not used to that. But Jackson is Jackson, and he attracts attention - especially the fact that he’s going with me. I’m anxious about everyone’s reception of him and also sneaking around my mom with getting him here. It’s not going to be easy, but Lexie and Arizona already said they’d help me in any way I need them to. 

“Dances aren’t that big of a deal,” he says, shrugging. “The DJ plays crappy music and Montgomery yells at people to stop touching each other.” We both giggle. “You’ll have a good time.” 

“I hope so,” I say with a smile. 

“I’m just…” he says, opening and closing his mouth as he decides what to say. “I’m happy to see - you know, you seem more like your old self. You’re happy. It’s nice. I’m happy for you,” he tells me. 

“Well, thanks,” I say. “I am happy right now.” 

He smiles while looking down at the floor. “Good,” he says. 

I get on the same bus as my sisters and wave George goodbye, then ride home while listening to the ruckus of the people around me. It’s Tuesday, so there isn’t much longer now to wait. 

I hurry through dinner and my homework tonight only to have nothing to do once 8pm rolls around, so that means I accidentally fall asleep while lying sideways on my bed - the crown of my head touching the wall and my feet dangling off. I’m awoken with a start a couple hours later by a slow tap on the window to my right. 

I look over with a smile on my face and rush to open it. The wind blusters in violently and I recoil because of it, and Jackson wraps his coat tight around himself. 

“Come in,” I say, ushering him forward.

“In?” he repeats, eyes concerned. 

“It’s too windy out there,” I say, hugging myself. “I was asleep, I’m cold. Get in here.” 

“If you say so,” he says, and steps in one leg at a time. 

Once he’s inside, I hurry to my door and lock it. Everyone should be asleep, but I don’t want to take any chances on that front. I turn on my humidifier to create some white noise and block out any sound that Jackson and I might make; even though we’ll be quiet there’s no telling what my rat of a sister, Kimmie, might hear. 

“You can take your coat off,” I say. “Get comfortable.” 

“Oh,” he says, half-smiling. “Okay.” I sit down on my bed and pat the spot next to me so he’ll sit. He kicks his shoes off, takes a look around, then plops down where I motioned to and wraps one arm around my shoulders. “Happy late birthday,” he whispers, and kisses me. 

“Thanks,” I say with a smile, and lean into him. “I loved your notes.” 

“Could you read my handwriting?”

“Oh, you mean those hieroglyphs?” I ask, planting my hands flat on his chest. “Barely.” 

He chuckles and pushes my hair off my shoulders, running his hands down my back after he does so. I’m in most of my uniform still - blue skirt and white blouse without a layer over it. My arms get goosebumps from his touch, but I like it. I don’t want them to go away. 

“I missed you,” I say, kissing him and opening my lips against his. “I really miss seeing you every day.” 

“You’re telling me,” he says, mouth moving down to my jaw as he works to untuck my blouse from my skirt. Once he does, his hand slips beneath it and crawls up my belly, over my ribcage, to rest over the swell of my breast. Though he just touches me over my bra - it’s enough to excite me. 

I fall to lie on my back and he follows my lead, half-covering my body with his own as he kisses my neck. “How’re your grades?” I ask, eyes on the ceiling. 

“Mm,” he murmurs, thumb moving in deliberate circles so my nipple hardens beneath his touch. My hips squirm involuntarily; I can barely handle this sensation. I find myself wanting more of him than I ever have before, right here on the twin bed that I’ve grown up in. In my room I’ve had my whole life, I want Jackson to  _ really _ touch me. I can’t believe I’m thinking these thoughts.

“Mm?” I repeat, giggling. “What’s that mean?” 

“It means,” he says, unbuttoning the first three buttons of my shirt so he can kiss the open skin on my chest. “I don’t want to think about grades right now.” 

“Okay,” I breathe, and move my hand from where it was resting next to me over to touch his waist. He unbuttons two more buttons on my blouse and I take in a deep breath and gather my courage, then tentatively reach below the button of his jeans to lightly graze over the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, letting out a heavy gust of air. I smirk to myself and curl my fingers into my hand, but then fan them out again and cover him, rubbing slowly up and down. “Holy shit,” he says, resting his face in the crook between my shoulder and jaw. “April…” 

“I…” I begin, but don’t really know what I want to say. With words, that is. I adjust myself so I’m lying on my back and he’s lying on his side next to me, then take his wrist and pull it down below my waist. I’m not sure what I want from him - not specifically - but I know I want him to touch me, if only a little. 

He doesn’t understand what I’m doing at first, he just lets me manipulate his wrist. But he’s not lax enough, so I can’t really get it where I want it.

“Jackson, I -” I take in a deep breath to steady myself, then get a little frustrated. I don’t want to say it out loud, I just want him to read my mind. I take his wrist again and guide it inside my skirt, but over my tights, so his hand rests right on the core of me - a place on my body that he’s never touched before. And I get the friction I’ve been looking for. 

“Are you-” he begins, and I nod fervently. He kisses me, one hand still in my skirt, rubbing me slowly while the other one stays acting as a pillow under my head. I squeeze his fingers between my thighs as hard as I can and I think I hear him chuckle, but he pulls away as I start to push myself harder against him. “We can’t do this here,” he says. 

I start to fight him, but I have no grounds to stand on. He’s right. “I know,” I say, and he slides his hand around from the front of me to the back, where he grabs a handful of my butt over my tights as I turn on my side. “I - um, I was just…” I can’t stop stuttering. I know what I want to say, but it’s proving harder than I thought to actually say it. “I wanted to know if - if you wanted to, of course, I wouldn’t if you didn’t - but I kind of really think you  _ do _ … not now obviously, like not this minute, just like sometime - and I could be wrong, I don’t know, just tell me… don’t be afraid to just tell me-” 

“April,” he says softly, slipping his hand out from under my skirt to run his fingers through my hair. “Are you trying to ask me if I want to have sex with you?” 

I blink up at him and relief floods through my body along with a mixture of nerves and excitement. I nod slowly. 

“Of course I want to,” he says, pressing his lips to mine gently. “I’ve been waiting for you. For when you were ready.” 

“I - um,” I say, tucking my hand into his back pocket. “I was thinking maybe after prom. Even though that’s so cliche and I hate myself for even suggesting it, and I don’t mean to like…  _ schedule  _ a day and time for it because that’s weird, but it just came to me and it seemed like a good idea. My mom expects me to be at Lexie’s. But I want to be with you.  _ Really _ be with you.” 

My cheeks get hot and I shake my head to try and will my blush away, but it persists. I’ve never said something even close to that out loud before. 

“I’d love that,” he says. “For you to come over after prom, yeah. That’d be…” He smiles. “That’d be really good.” He licks his lips. “Would you want to… I don’t know, spend the night?” 

I bite my lower lip. “Yeah, I was hoping so,” I say. “Unless you wanted to kick me out on the street.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says. “I just wanna make sure I have breakfast food. I’m not gonna make you eat cold pizza in the morning. That’d be cruel.” 

“Well, thank you in advance,” I say, skimming one hand over his hair that’s just gotten to the length I like it. I whisper, “I’m nervous.” 

“That’s okay,” he says, holding my neck as he kisses me. “It’s alright to be scared, but at the same time… I got you. It’s me and you. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.” 

\---

The rest of the week flies by, and before I know it it’s Saturday morning. I wake up to a few texts from Jackson, of course, and smile as I read them. 

**RECEIVED: 9:08am-** TODAYS THE DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

**RECEIVED: 9:10am-** wakey wakey sleepyheadddddd its PROM DAY

**RECEIVED: 9:12am-** i got my teal tie ready, corsage all bought, and im even thinking about showering 2day…… feel special 

**RECEIVED: 9:24am-** wakeeeeee upppppppppppp apppprrrillllllllll 

**SENT: 9:31am-** i think you’re more excited about this than me! 

**RECEIVED: 9:31am-** 2 quote u, :P 

I hop out of bed, get in the shower, and get my things ready to head to Lexie’s. Today, along with Arizona, Amelia and Steph, we’re going to the salon to get our hair, nails and makeup done for tonight and our appointment is at 10, so I need to get going. 

My mom takes me in the van, and I practically bounce out of the seat once we pull up in front of Lexie’s house. “Remember to take pictures for me,” she says. I invited her to stay with Lexie’s mom for the picture portion, but she turned it down. She has church on Saturday nights and tonight is apparently something she can’t miss. I wasn’t too disappointed; it actually makes things a bit easier for me without her breathing down my neck with every little thing I do. 

“Thank you for letting me do this, mom,” I say, leaning into the car as Arizona waves at me from the porch. “Really, really thank you.” My stomach is jumping with nerves for everything to come later. When I see her next, I won’t be the same person I am now and she will be none the wiser. Guilt flashes through me, but it disappears as fast as it came.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she says. “Your friends are calling you. You better go in.” 

I look back over my shoulder to see that Lexie’s joined Arizona on the porch and is smiling like a maniac. “Okay,” I say. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” she says, and then I wave Mom goodbye and hurry up to join my friends as she drives away. 

We drop everything off inside the house and then all pile in Meredith’s car to head to the salon. She hadn’t really wanted to take us, but she and Lexie’s dad didn’t really give her much of a choice. She waits in the car while we go inside and get pampered. 

I sit next to Lexie as both our fingernails and toenails are being painted. I choose silver polish for both of mine to accent the color of my dress, and she chooses red to bring out the accents in the floral detail of hers. 

“I have to tell you something,” I whisper, not wanting the rest of our friends to hear. Luckily, they’re caught up in their own conversations and aren’t paying any attention to ours. She turns to me, eyebrows raised and interest piqued. “I’m staying over at Jackson’s tonight.” 

“Oh,” she says, but then realizes. “Oh.  _ Oh _ .” Her eyes widen. “April.” 

I nod. “Yeah, I know. I… I decided the other day. I’m ready, Lex. I love him. And he loves me.” 

I can see the cogs in her brain start to turn. “Okay, okay, I can make this work,” she says. “My mom’ll be asleep by the time prom’s over anyway. She won’t even know you’re not with us. And in the morning, I’ll just tell her you decided to go home instead.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Will that work?” 

She gives me a look. “Yes. Don’t worry. You go off and have teenage sex, and I’ll-” 

“ _ Stop _ ,” I hiss, jutting my chin out in her direction. “Don’t say it so loud.” 

“I still can’t believe that I’m going to meet the famous Jackson,” she says, facing forward again. “After hearing about him for so long, the legend finally becomes reality. I’m gonna be a little starstruck, not gonna lie.” 

I rest back against my chair and breathe deeply, trying to calm my wired nerves. There are so many ways in which tonight can go wrong, but so many ways that it can go right, too. I just have to somehow make sure that the latter happens. 

“April,” Lexie says, grabbing my attention again as I’ve zoned out in my head for a couple minutes. I turn my head to look at her. “I’m gonna tell you something, and don’t write me off. I’m being serious, okay? Don’t say ew and tell me to shut up. Listen to me, for once in your goddamn life.” I nod begrudgingly. “I need to talk to you about orgasms. More specifically, the female orgasm. It’s-” 

“Lex-” 

“No! I said listen to me and you agreed, so shush.” 

I shush. 

“An orgasm is not a privilege. It’s a right. So whatever happens tonight, you get Jackson to make sure you get one. That’s not up for discussion. Like, yeah, your first time will be scary. It will. I’m not gonna lie and tell you that it won’t be. But it’s not gonna be scary for the reasons you think. You trust Jackson and you love him, so that won’t be the scary part. What’s going on inside your head is gonna scare you more - but try not to let it. You’ll get self-conscious, but it’ll go away. Try to let yourself enjoy it. And if he’s the kind of guy you make him sound like, he’ll be there for you every step of the way. Don’t feel like you have to rush to keep up with some image you have in your head. Just let yourself be. And remember,  _ you _ come first.” 

“I come first,” I repeat, having heard the phrase before. 

Lexie narrows her eyes and smirks. “I don’t really mean that like I think you think I mean it,” she says. 

“What?” 

She smiles wider and shakes her head so her hair flops around. “I mean,” she says. “He needs to make sure you… come first.” 

I give her a confused look. I’m still lost. 

“April,” she hisses, lowering her voice. “You need to have your orgasm first.”

“Oh,” I say, blushing madly. “Right. Okay. Right.” I turn away slightly and rest my chin in my palm. “Thanks, Lex.” 

She’s giggling. “No problem,” she says. “And also remember, if it gets to be too much, you’re allowed to stop. You can stop whenever you want to.” 

“Okay,” I say. 

“I don’t mean to preach or anything. I just know no one else is gonna tell you this shit.” 

“No, it’s good,” I say. “I… this is super awkward.” I laugh. “But it’s good.” 

\---

We all get back to Lexie’s house and it’s time to get into our dresses to take pictures. “Don’t you girls look nice,” Lexie’s mom, Susan, says. “I love what they did with your hair.” 

Mine is in an intricate updo low on the back of my head, complete with braids and curls and even a jewel accent on the side. I touch it gently as Susan compliments it, and then head off to Lexie’s room to get into my dress. 

I’m in here alone, so I take a second just staring - standing in front of it in my underwear and bralette - before I put it on. I run my fingers down the soft fabric and take it off the hanger, stepping in carefully before zipping it up as high as I can. I put on my heels and come out of the room and run into Lexie in the hallway, as she makes her way down with her wide black skirt. 

“Oh my god, you princess,” she says, and zips me up the rest of the way. “You. look. amazing.” 

I smile and twirl. “So do you!” I say, looking her up and down. “I know just what Mark is gonna say.” 

“It’s pretty… could be lower in the front,” Lexie says, mimicking Mark in a low voice. We both laugh as we head downstairs and meet up with everyone else outside for pictures - Mark, Derek, Meredith, Arizona, Amelia, and Steph are all on the porch mingling and waiting for Lexie’s mom to get the camera ready. We join them and I hear Lexie ribbing Mark, saying something along the lines of:  _ I didn’t ask your opinion.  _

I hang out by myself, just happily listening in on everyone else’s conversations. I meet Derek’s eyes across the way and he nods at me, then walks a little closer. “You look really nice, April,” he says. 

My stomach doesn’t jump and my face doesn’t heat up. All I do is smile demurely and say, “Thank you.” 

I’m not sure how long pictures take, but it feels like ten hours. Once they’re over with and my cheeks hurt from smiling too much, we all get in Mark’s SUV to head to the high school. 

My stomach is in knots. Jackson texted and said that he’s already there and waiting, just on time. My palms are sweating, so I wipe them on Mark’s upholstery and don’t care if anyone notices. I wonder what Jackson is going to think of me. I clutch the overnight bag that I packed on my lap and try not to catch the attention of anyone else in the car as I quietly have a nervous breakdown. 

When we pull into the parking lot, the building is lit up and there are small groups of people gathered outside, socializing before going in. We park and I get out first, scanning the area for my favorite familiar face. I finally see him by a lit-up pillar, leaning against it with one leg straight and the other bent in front of it, looking down at the corsage in his hand. 

Lexie appears beside me. “Is that him?” she asks. 

I nod while keeping my eyes forward. “That’s him,” I say, and I push ahead of my group so I can get to him first.

He lifts his head just in time and his face lights up in a soft smile. I try and take my time walking to him, but it’s hard not to put a skip in my step when he’s so close to me. 

“You… look…” he says, eyes scanning me once I reach him. “Amazing. Beautiful. I… I can’t even think of a good word.” 

I smirk and blush, right on cue. “So do you,” I say, and reach up to run my finger down his blue tie. “We match perfect.” 

“Of course we do,” he says, and kisses my cheek. “Here, this is for you.” 

He moves to put the corsage on me, but a voice stops us. “Wait, wait!” It’s Lexie, hurrying towards us. “You have to let me get a picture of this. You’re gonna want this, trust me.” 

We let her. 

“Lex, this is Jackson. Jackson, this is my best friend, Lexie. And her boyfriend Mark, and our friends Amelia, Steph and Arizona.” He waves at all of them, and I hold onto his arm while looking up at him. I feel so proud that he’s mine. “I’m sure there’ll be more people to meet inside,” I say. 

“You ready to go in?” Lexie asks, and Mark groans. 

“So excited,” he drones.

“Just because this is your thirtieth prom and your twelfth year of high school doesn’t mean that you can’t be excited,” Lexie snips lightheartedly. 

Mark holds his chest in fake pain and Jackson chuckles. I can’t stop staring at him, watching him next to my friends. Two very important parts of my world are colliding, and I’m caught in the middle in the best way. 

Jackson flashes his visitor’s pass as we walk through the front doors and I keep close to him as we filter through the people on the way to the gym, where the bass of the music is thumping. As we get closer, Jackson scoffs and shakes his head. “Bad song,” he says. “Horrible song.” 

“Agree,” Lexie says. I just shrug because I’ve never heard the song in my life, and it sounds catchy enough to me. “They’re not allowed to play mainstream music with curse words. So they find the most random shit and put it through.” 

We walk into the gym and get separated from the group, but I keep a good grip on Jackson’s arm so I don’t lose him, too. The song that’s playing is fast and loud, and I look up to Jackson with a pained look on my face. “Do you want to dance to this?” I ask, shouting over the din of the music. 

“Do you?” he asks me back. I shake my head no, and we sit down on the bleachers on the outskirts of the dance floor. We sit there awkwardly for a few minutes, both facing out towards the dance floor, just staring ahead. After a beat passes, we both turn in and start talking at the same time.

“Can we-” 

“Do you-”

We laugh. “You go first,” I say. 

“No, you,” he says. 

I giggle a little bit. Being with him here feels so much different than being with him in his apartment; it feels like here we have to be something more. At home, I don’t have to try to impress him - I’ve never felt the pressure to. But here, we’re out in public and I want to know what he’s thinking of me and all this. It’s hard not to feel self-conscious as I’ve thrown him into a part of my life that he’s never seen before. 

“Do you maybe wanna get some punch and go out into the hall? It’s quieter there, and we can talk,” I suggest. 

“That sounds great,” he says, and we stand up from the bleachers. “I’ll get the drinks and meet you out there, okay?” 

I agree and then head out of the sweaty, loud gym and into the hallway where it’s much cooler and calmer. I sit down on a bench just outside the cafeteria and slouch a little bit, wondering if my makeup is running or if my hair is deflating. I hope not for both of those things, but I don’t feel like going into the bathroom to check. Most likely I’d run into girls that I would rather not run into. 

Jackson doesn’t take long with the punch. He comes back, sits next to me, and hands me a cup that’s most of the way full. 

“It tastes like sugar water, just to warn you,” he says. 

I take a sip. He’s right, it’s awful. “Geez,” I say, and set the cup down on the bench next to me. 

“I couldn’t really tell you earlier,” he says, setting his cup down too. “But you look really… really, gorgeous. You know I think you’re gorgeous in the first place, but in this dress…” He shakes his head. “Damn, April. You're beautiful.” 

“Stop,” I say, cheeks flaming. 

He chuckles and holds my hand. “So this is the school, huh? Old DePaul Prep?” 

I look up and join him in looking around. The cafeteria is behind us, the gym on the left, and the wide-open atrium is laid out in front. The senior hallway is tucked just behind the staircase and we could see it if we leaned a little bit to either side, but it’s not that important. 

“Yep,” I say. “My own personal Hell every single day.” 

“Hey, Kepner.” 

I hear a voice from behind us and flip my head around to see Callie Torres coming out of the bathroom, alone for the first time in seemingly forever. She’s in a long, black dress with dramatic makeup, her hair in curls around her shoulders. She’s smiling at me. For a second, I wonder if I’m possibly having a stroke. Or maybe, if she is. 

“Oh, um, h-hey, Callie,” I respond. 

“I like your dress,” she says, lingering an awkward distance away from us. 

“Thanks,” I say. “You look really pretty, too.” 

She gives me a somewhat apologetic, somewhat grateful smile. “Just wanted to tell you,” she says. 

“Thanks,” I say again, not really knowing what else to add to the conversation. 

She raises one hand in a curt wave. “Have a good rest of your night,” she says, and then walks off. 

Once she’s a far enough distance away, I turn to Jackson with a bewildered expression on my face and he asks, “Was that  _ the _ Callie?” I nod silently. “Well, now I can see why she was so mean to you before. I think she probably had a crush on you, if she still doesn’t.” 

I roll my eyes and scoff loudly. “Don’t be mean,” I say. 

“I’m honestly not,” he says. “I can see it, I’m on the outside. You can’t. When you stood up to her on Valentine’s Day like you told me, you probably made her confront her feelings towards you.” 

I scoot closer to him and touch the tip of my nose to his. “When did you get so wise?” I ask, rubbing my hands up his arms. 

“Born this way,” he says, and steals a kiss. “You taste like that punch.” 

“Punch,” I say, and gently sock his bicep. 

A little over an hour passes where not much happens. I come to realize that prom got hyped up so much only for it to be pretty boring, and the only thing I’m thinking about is what’s going to come after this. I can’t help but be anxious to get out of here, even though I wanted so much to enjoy it - I’m not. And I can tell that Jackson really isn’t, either. 

As I stand on the outskirts of the dance floor, though, he seems to have disappeared. I confusedly look around for him, but don’t see him anywhere. I shrug to myself and stay standing where I am, knowing he’ll find his way back eventually, and then feel someone’s fingertip run down my entire arm. 

When I turn around to see that it’s Alex, it gives me chills in a bad way. 

“Virgin Mary Fuckie is showing her shoulders off to the world,” he says. “Trying to get laid tonight or something, Fuckie? I’ve never seen you in something this slutty.” My forehead crinkles and I take a step back away from him. My dress isn’t slutty and I know that, but that doesn’t mean his words don’t hurt. “You tried to look all nice, yet still had to keep those fucking ugly glasses,” he continues, then scoffs. “Dumbass. You’re never gonna fully get it, are you?"

I turn my back on him and luckily, he gets swept up in the crowd. A few moments later, Jackson shows up with a proud grin on his lips. “Do you wanna leave?” I ask, almost as soon as he reaches me. 

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and winds his arm around the small of my back. “Let’s wait one more song,” he says. 

“ _ Jackson _ ,” I whine, maybe a little too dramatically.

“ _ April _ ,” he says, matching my tone and smiling. “Trust me, okay? You’re gonna want-” 

Interrupting his sentence, the first notes of ‘Try A Little Tenderness’ by Otis Redding come on - the song that was my most favorite from the first CD he made me. I look up at him with a big smile, and he tips his head to the side in response. 

“Told you,” he says, then extends his hand. “Dance with me?” 

I take his hand and my heart flutters as we walk to the middle of the gym floor. He wraps his arms around my waist and I link my hands together behind his neck, and as I look up into his face I know for a fact that I’ve never been more smitten with someone in my entire life, and I don’t think I ever will be again. I want him to last. I want him to be forever. 

“ _ You know she’s waiting… just anticipating… the thing that she'll never, never, never, never possess, yeah, yeah… But while she's there waiting, and without them, try a little tenderness… _ ” he sings along softly, just to me, taking one hand from my waist to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. 

My smile is going to break my face, I’m sure. I’m positively beaming up at him, basking in the light of his eyes, wondering how I got so lucky. 

“April, remember to leave room,” I hear Ms. Montgomery say as she passes by, and I glance over at her with worry only to see that she’s grinning with a twinkle in her eyes. She gives me a minute shake of the head, and I smile back at her. 

When the song speeds up, Jackson and I dance crazy. I throw my arms above my head and jump around in circles, and he does the same. I’m sure we look unbelievably stupid, but I can’t find it within myself to care. When the song ends, we’re breathless and happy, red-faced and sweaty as we walk off the dance floor and towards the front doors, hand-in-hand. 

I press the length of my arm to Jackson’s and look up at him as we stroll through the parking lot, my lips tugging up at the corners. He looks down at me and asks, “Did you have a good time?” 

I squeeze his hand. “All because you were here,” I say. 

“Aw, would you look at that,” Alex says, standing up from the curb where he’d been sitting. “How cute. Look at you, Kepner. How much did you pay this poor guy to take you here? Or, Jesus Christ, did you finally find someone who’ll fuck you? Nah, that can’t be-” 

Everything happens in slow motion, yet faster than the blink of an eye. Jackson drops my hand, takes one steady step forward and punches Alex square in the nose with what looks like all the strength he can muster. I cover my mouth with both hands, gaping as Alex stumbles and falls to land flat on his back on the concrete. 

“Jackson!” I shriek, and he tries to go for him again but I yank him back by his left arm. “No, don’t!” Alex is already bleeding from his nose and mouth, and it’d be wrong to go for him while he’s down. “Come on,” I say, throwing a look over my shoulder at Alex, who hasn’t gotten up from the ground. “We should go.” 

When we get in the car, Jackson shakes out his hand and I turn the light on so I can see it. “This’ll need ice when we get back,” I say, then look at him all wide-eyed. “You punched Alex.” I’m still in shock over it. 

He chuckles, then giddily says, “I punched Alex.” 

There’s a moment of charged silence where we’re both breathily laughing, and then we turn towards each other and he grips my face and I lean over the console so he can kiss the complete life out of me. His hands roam all over my body, starting at my bare shoulders and then drifting down to my waist and hips where they come to rest. When we come up for air, his eyes are hungry and hooded. “We should go,” I say again, my voice low. “We should get out of here.” 

\---

Jackson keeps his hand on my thigh for the entire ride back to his place, and Lexie’s words won’t leave my head.  _ You come first. You come first. You come first.  _

I can’t stop thinking about it. How will this feel for me? How is it  _ supposed  _ to feel? I had thought about doing research beforehand, but I felt silly and then I told myself that it would probably just scare me. And I don’t want to be scared. 

I glance over at Jackson and smile at him as he looks at the road. I’m not scared of him, not at all. That’s not it. But my body has always been mine and mine alone. Now, it feels like I’m giving a part of it over and I want to, but it’s still a big step.

I try and take Lexie’s other advice and get out of my own head. Like she said, it’s just making things worse. I concentrate on the warmth of his hand on my leg and go back and replay all of what just happened at prom. I can’t believe that all of this is happening to  _ me _ . Of all people, I get to experience this. It doesn’t seem real. I rest my hand overtop of his to make sure that I’m here and this is happening, and he glances over in response to my touch. 

“Hey,” he says softly, and I squeeze his fingers. 

When we get up to his apartment, I fall into the usual routine and take my heels off right away, which my feet are glad for. I haven’t been here in a while, so after I drop my overnight bag off on the couch, I smile because the air smells like him. Being away from it for so long has reopened my eyes to the way he smells and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it. 

He slips out of his shoes, too, and I can feel his eyes on me as I look out the window down towards the street. When I turn back, I see that I was right and he’d been watching me from across the room, hands in his pockets. “What?” I ask.

He shakes his head a little. “You just look so effortless,” he says. 

I walk over to him, the skirt of my dress billowing as I go. “You sound like those romantic poets you love so much,” I tell him, running my fingers down his tie. “I think they rubbed off on you.” 

“Hopefully I won’t be sticking my head in the oven anytime soon,” he says, snorting. 

“Sylvia Plath was not a romantic poet, dummy,” I say. 

He leads the way into the kitchen and opens the freezer. “I’m ignoring your insult,” he says. “Because I have ice cream. Want some?” 

I’m never one to turn down ice cream, and he dishes us each a bowl. We stand across from each other, both leaning against opposite sides of the counter, still in our prom clothes as we eat. 

“I still can’t believe you punched Alex,” I say. 

“He had it coming,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long ass time. And if he didn’t pull anything, I really wasn’t going to. But it was his choice to say shit, so he got hit.” He laughs at himself. “Talk shit, get hit. That’s what they say.”

“I’ve never heard that.” 

“Well, they say that.” 

“Who’s they?”

“You know, they. Just people. They.” 

We laugh and he finishes his ice cream first with me coming only a few minutes after. We put our bowls in the sink and then have a moment where we both know what we’re not saying, but neither of us are sure if it should be said. My nerves are on end as I wring my hands and finally ask, “Can we go to your room now?” 

If I’m not mistaken, I see  _ his _ face flush. “Of course,” he says. “I just didn’t… I didn’t wanna rush, or push or anything. I didn’t know if you still wanted… what you said, the other day - if you were still thinking about…” 

“I am,” I assure him. “Are you?” 

He nods and gives me a killer smile. “Yeah,” he says. “For sure.” He makes a wide gesture with his arm and says, “After you.” 

I walk into his room and though he lives alone, he shuts the door behind us. I’m not sure why, but that comforts me and I’m glad he does it. I sit down on the edge of his bed, which is made up and nice, and rest my open hands on my knees. “You cleaned up in here,” I say, looking around. 

He rubs the back of his neck. “I… yeah,” he says with a grin. “I wanted to make it nice for you.” 

“I like it.”

“Good.” 

We’re quiet for a moment and then he takes off his suit jacket, which leaves him in a periwinkle dress shirt that makes his eyes pop. The silence lasts until I look up at him and say softly, “I’m nervous.” 

He smiles a little. “I know,” he says, and sits down next to me. “I can tell. You’re not talking.” 

“Am I really that easy to read?” I ask. 

He moves a piece of hair out of my eyes. “Kind of, yeah.” He laughs and I pretend to pout. “If you’re not ready-” 

“No, I swear I am,” I say. “Really. I’m not just saying that. I… I want you. I just want to put it out there that I’m nervous."

“Communication is good,” he says, nodding. “How about this. We just go slow. Do stuff we’ve done before. No one’s rushing, we’re not being timed. There’s no rules we have to abide by. It’s just me and you,” he says. “Like always.” 

My gut settles a little bit. “You could help me take my hair out,” I suggest. 

“That works,” he says.

I start with the clips in the front while he works on the ones in the back, and when those are all out, he weaves his fingers through the braids so they come undone, too. Lastly, he takes the decorative barrette off the side of my head and sets it on his nightstand, and I turn towards him with one knee bent up on the bed and the other foot still on the floor. “Do I look pretty?” I ask teasingly, knowing my hair must be a wreck.

“As always,” he says, completely genuine. 

I want out of my dress, but that means I’ll be left in only my underwear and bralette. My heart is ready for that step, but I’m not sure if my head is. He holds my jaw in his hands and kisses me softly, and I rest my hands on his chest and hold onto his tie as he presses his mouth harder against mine. I’m ready. I want out of it. 

“Can you unzip me?” I ask breathlessly, pulling my mouth from his. 

If he’s surprised he doesn’t show it, and I appreciate that. “Sure,” he says, and I swivel around so my back is facing him. He slowly pulls my zipper down until I feel the air hit my back, and he runs one finger deliberately down the bumps of my spine after it’s exposed. 

The goosebumps rise up immediately on my skin. I take in a deep breath and stand up so I can step out of the dress and hang it somewhere nicely so it won’t wrinkle. I place it over the back of his desk chair, and I can tell he’s trying not to look at me so I won’t be uncomfortable. My underwear are sky blue and my bralette is the same color - I’ve had this matching set buried in my drawer from when Lexie got them for me as a joke for my birthday last year. I never thought I’d have a reason to wear them - I would’ve never expected this. 

He swivels around and pulls open his laptop, clicking quickly to pull open his Spotify and turn on a playlist that I can see is called ‘sex jams.’ Sultry hip-hop fills the room and covers the silence, and I’m glad for that. It makes things seem easier. Music is our connecting force. 

“You can look at me, Jackson,” I whisper, and I sit back down on the bed next to him. His eyes drift up from the navy blue comforter over my legs, up my torso, across my chest, and finally to lock with my eyes. I inhale deeply and fold my hands on my lap, feeling so incredibly naked yet not at all afraid. 

“I’ve never shown someone this much skin before,” I say. “I know I’m all scrawny and small and bony-” 

“Stop,” he says. “Come here.” 

He tentatively wraps his fingers around my waist and then situates his arms in their place to hug me close. He buries his face in my neck and I feel his mouth open against my skin; the heat of his breath and the slight suction of his lips is making my heart go crazy.

“I feel overdressed,” he says.

“You are,” I reply, and pull back from him to try and undo his tie, but I don't get very far. “I can't do it.” 

“That's okay,” he says, smiling. “I've had a lot of practice, ever since I was a kid.” He undoes it in one fluid motion and then casts it down to the floor. 

“Why do you have so much practice?” I ask, fiddling with the top button of his shirt. 

“My mom liked me going to fancy benefits with her starting at a young age,” he says. “By 8, I knew how to network. It was sad.” 

“Sad?” I ask, slowly undoing the buttons one by one. “Sounds like a good skill to have.” 

He gives me a half-smile. “Did you like sitting through long ass sermons when you were a little kid? Or would you have rather been at home, playing with your sisters and you know… being a kid?” 

My mouth forms a straight line as his words sink in. “Oh,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says. “I learned from it, but it wasn't something I enjoyed. But guess what?” 

“What?” 

“You're something I enjoy,” he murmurs. “And you're the only thing I wanna think about right now.” 

At this point, all of his buttons are undone and his shirt falls open to either side to expose his sturdy chest and torso. I untuck it from his pants and skim my fingers down his muscles, feeling heat pool between my legs as I do so, then lean forward and press my lips to his collarbones. 

I trail my hands over his shoulders, even as my fingers tremble, to push his shirt down his arms. He shimmies out of it and throws it to the foot of the bed, then hurriedly undoes the button of his pants so he can step out of them and leave the discarded pile on the floor next to the bed. 

Now we’re both in our underthings. It dawns on me that I’ve never seen his legs before now; they’re toned and sculpted and the hair on them brushes against the smoothness of my calves as I lay back and we intertwine. 

With our hips pressing insistently against each other, I feel him heavier than I ever have before. There’s only two layers of impeccably thin fabric that separates us and I’m painfully aware of that fact as my pelvis writhes under his pressure. His mouth is hot on my neck, and I feel his tongue part his lips to skim over my throat and then go lower - exploring the open plane of my chest and then the lace of my blue bralette. 

I take in a short gasp and my body twitches up towards him as he spreads his fingers out and rubs them down my back as far as he can reach. He closes his mouth and smiles against my breastbone, the tip of his nose squashed against my chestplate. “You heartbeat,” he murmurs. “It’s wild.” 

I let out a shaky breath. “I know,” I admit, and press my hand overtop of it as light as a feather. 

“Can I take this off?” he asks, lifting his head up and tracing the lace on the underside of my bralette. With each inhale, my ribs show through my stomach with his free hand resting overtop of them, his thumb moving in slow circles. 

“Yeah,” I say, and sit up halfway so I can pull it off over my head. Once it’s off, I stay covering my chest with my hands and look at him nervously. “No one’s… no one’s ever seen…” 

“I know,” he says. “I know. You go at your pace. You tell me when you’re ready.” 

I lay back down and look up at him, and as our eyes concentrate on each other, slow smiles break onto both of our faces. “I’ll just keep kissing you,” he says. “And you move your hands when you feel like it.” 

He pushes his body back up and presses his lips to mine, and when he opens his mouth and I breathe him in, I slip my hands off of my breasts and circle them around his shoulder blades so our bare chests are pressed up tight against each other. Skin on skin. Heartbeat against heartbeat. Him… and me. And that’s it. 

Jackson takes his time with me. The minutes slow down as he drops kisses down my jaw, over my neck, and then when he pulls his head back to look at me full-on. He bites his lower lip and his eyes flit from my breasts to my eyes, back and forth until I feel that familiar blush flooding my face. “Well, say something,” I murmur. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits, and lowers his face back to my chest. He nips a tiny bit of the skin at the apex of my ribs and chuckles against me, then gently kisses the swell of my right breast before covering my nipple with his tongue. 

“Oh,” I gasp, and my hands fly to his head as his teeth graze over a spot on my body that’s never been touched by another person before. “Oh, my gosh.” I rake my fingernails over the back of his neck and down across his shoulder blades, and involuntarily arch my hips up to collide with his. I feel that same stiffness between us, except this time I know what it is. 

I feel a budding sense of pride knowing that I’m the one who did that to him. 

He covers my opposite breast with his hand as he removes his mouth from the other one and licks his way down my torso and down to the waistband of my underwear. He’s breathing hard now, I can see his shoulders heaving, and his eyes have a certain heady quality to them that I haven’t seen before. When his teeth drag over the lacy band of my underwear, I can’t help but jolt in the opposite direction so hard that the crown of my head smacks against his headboard. 

“Ouch,” I hiss, rubbing the spot. 

He looks up at me. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Just, what… what… just -” I try and catch my breath and as I do so, one of his hands sneaks up and squeezes my breast as he smiles sneakily. “I just don't know… what are you doing?” 

“I was planning on going down on you…” he says, with that same smirk. 

“I… what?” 

He kisses the top of my thigh and then smoothes his hands over my underwear on my hips. My chest is heating up and I’m starting to feel self-conscious for the first time, and I don’t like it. “April…” he begins. The tone of his voice is gentle and it’s the one he uses specifically for me. I tell myself that I don’t need to feel stupid, that this is Jackson we’re talking about. “Sorry. I forget that you… you make me forget that you don’t … oral sex. I want to help ease you into it with something that’s just for you.” He pauses a moment. “Well, not  _ just _ for you. I’m also going to enjoy it, but… you know what I mean. I hope.”

Lexie’s words run through my head again.  _ You come first _ . I hadn’t even needed to say anything; he’s just going to do it. By his own accord. It’s like he knows. 

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.” 

“If you want me to stop, just tell me,” he says, and curls his fingers around the lace to pull it down. I lift my hips up so he can, and then kick the fabric off the bed when it gets tangled around my ankles. 

I’m naked. Completely naked in front of a boy for the first time, and I find myself feeling safe. And wanted. And loved. And seen. 

He presses a gentle kiss to my thigh again and then gently parts the both of them. “Relax…” he says, his voice low and soothing. “I got you. Relax.” 

I do my best to make my breaths come evenly. I can’t bear to watch him, for some reason that just makes it all too much, so I’m staring at a specific spot on the ceiling when his lips connect with my core and my body rockets into sensory overload. I’ve never been touched like this before, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. I clap one hand over my forehead as he opens his mouth, and I feel the warm wetness of his tongue and the low hum of his voice vibrating against my center. It takes me a moment to realize that the soft, desperate whimpers that I hear are coming from myself. 

I’ve started to sweat. I feel it on my neck and my hairline; he’s making me hot in every sense of the word. I never knew my body was capable of feeling like this. I never even knew this was a  _ thing  _ \- how would I? It’s not like my school, my church, or my parents would ever teach me. 

Now Jackson, my student, has become my teacher. 

He hollows out his cheeks and sucks hard, which makes me unabashedly scream. I don’t know what exactly he’s touched, but it’s something right and I’m pretty sure I’m seeing stars. My jaw hangs open and for the first time since he began, I touch him. I run my fingers over his curls and yank on them as he continues to do what he’s doing, and then an even stronger feeling washes over me. My thighs start to quake and my hips buck up towards his face, even as he firmly holds them in place. Even with my body writhing beneath his hands, his mouth stays connected and he doesn’t give me a reprieve. 

“I… I…” I pant. I’m not sure what’s happening. I’m feeling a million things at once and everything feels so…  _ good _ . 

“You’re about to come, babe,” he says, speaking out of the side of his mouth so he doesn’t have to lift his lips from me. “Let it happen.” 

I lay back and he sucks on the same spot that made me see stars, and then it happens. I hear sounds that don’t even sound like me somehow come out of my mouth as my back arches sideways off the mattress. Jackson still holds my lower half down as I move erratically, and it takes me forever to ease down from the feeling. When I do, my heart is beating over my entire body and he’s smiling from between my thighs. 

I glance down at him before my eyes roll back in my head. “What,” I pant. 

He crawls up and kisses the sweaty part of my neck, running his tongue over the perspiration. As he lifts his face, he presses his lips to my chin and then my mouth, where he lingers. “You just had your first orgasm,” he says, one hand searching my body until it lands over my left breast. “How’d it feel?” I can’t answer him with words. I cover his hand with my own and squeeze his fingers, and he gets the hint to grip me tighter. He smiles as we kiss and rubs his thumb roughly over my nipple to made it harden into a peak, which he then takes into his mouth after moving down to my chest. “You’re amazing,” he says, words falling out over my skin. 

We make out for a long time after that, and then the thought passes through my mind that I’m ready and I want this to happen. “Jackson,” I breathe, and hold his shoulders. “Is this going to hurt me?” 

He licks his lips and pecks my cheek, rolling off of me so we can talk. “I was doing some research,” he says. “I’ve never… um, been with a virgin before. So I thought it would be good to read up.” I turn on my side and rest my hand in the middle of his chest, where I can feel his heart beating through his sternum. “I read a lot of articles. They said that it might hurt, but it won’t be that bad. And you might bleed, but just a little.” 

I nod and whisper, “Okay.” 

“I got some lube, too,” he says, and reaches over me to open the drawer of his nightstand. “This is water-based. Oil-based dissolves condoms, which...no.” I hear the sound of foil and he comes back with a bottle and a gold square that I can only assume is the condom. “They also said you might not come because your body isn’t used to it. So if you don’t…” he says with a smirk. “That’ll just give me an excuse to go down on you again.” 

We spend a moment watching each other’s faces, and then I touch the waistband of his underwear and say, “Okay. I’m ready.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. I nod. “Okay.” 

He takes off the last piece of clothing that remains on his body, and I can’t help but stare. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I can tell he’s not small by any means. He snorts and I look up at him with a look of alarm in my eyes. 

“I -” he stammers, then shakes his head. “You’re… kinda staring.” 

“Oh - um, I - sorry,” I say, chewing on a small portion of my lower lip. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “No need to apologize. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

I meet his eyes. “I am,” I say. “I swear.” 

He puts the condom on and then lubes himself up. I’m glad he thought of that, because I hadn’t even known that a man-made form of lubrication existed before now. “Okay,” he says, and kisses me. “I’m gonna go in now.” 

“Okay,” I whisper, and sling my arms around his neck as he thrusts his hips slowly against mine and pushes inside me. When he’s in, I feel a heavy, insistent pressure, but it doesn’t really hurt that bad. I remind myself to breathe and try to relax my muscles, and I close my eyes to try and center myself. Jackson buries his face in my neck and opens his mouth on my pulse point as he moves his hips again, and when he moans... that makes me feel something entirely new. 

I can’t exactly say that it feels pleasant while he’s inside me, but I do like being this close to him. And I can tell he’s really enjoying it, which makes me feel proud and incredibly sexy. He’s doing his best to be gentle, so when his hips buck roughly against me I know that he’s starting to lose himself. He pulls his face up from my neck and looks into my eyes - and I see the rawest part of him that I’ve been introduced to so far. There’s something primal in his eyes as he moans with his mouth hanging slightly open, and it’s making me want him even more. 

He grinds his pelvis with a lasting thrust and inhales deeply, asking me, “You okay?” in a low, guttural voice. 

“I’m great,” I say, reaching up to run my fingers down from his temples to rest on his cheeks. “Keep going.” 

He does. He goes until I hear him make a sound low in his throat, and his hips twitch and move much more erratically than they’d been doing before. I move my hands from his face to grip his waist so I can feel him as he comes inside me, and the sounds he’s making are so absolutely delicious that I wish I could somehow contain them and keep them with me forever. I never want to forget this moment. 

He’s breathing hard when he comes down fully, and now he can’t stop kissing me. He pulls out, does something with the condom, and wastes no time in lowering himself back down below my waistline. He makes me come with his mouth again, spending ample time making sure that I feel good and that my body is appreciated. 

When he comes back up, I’m lying with my arms strewn on the pillow above my head, panting wildly. He props himself up on his elbow and swipes a bit of my sweaty hair off of my forehead, looking down at me like I singlehandedly hung the moon. 

“Holy shit,” he says, and kisses me before meeting my eyes again. “I am so in love with you.” 


	11. Chapter 11

My heart clogs my throat and I stop breathing for a moment. With the way he’s looking at me, I feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle right here on his gray sheets.

“I just had to tell you,” he says, and kisses me softly while holding the side of my face.

I don’t say anything at first. I want to piece together my words accordingly and say something to him that means just as much as what he’s said to me. I want to make sure what I say fits perfectly.

“When I told you I loved you before,” I begin. “I meant it. But I was lying.” His face shifts a little bit, but I continue. “I didn’t know what love really was. But now I do.” I lower my arms from where they rest on the pillow above me and run my hands over his shoulders. “And I love you.”

A smile breaks its way onto his face slowly until its brightness encompasses everything about him. He kisses me again, all over my face - starting at my lips, then moving to my cheekbones, my ears, my chin, my jaw, my neck… everywhere he can reach.

A few minutes later, while his lips are pressed to mine, I can’t stifle a yawn. He pulls back and giggles as I stretch and squeeze my eyes shut tight, and then wraps his arms around my middle to playfully pull me to him as my mouth closes again. “Someone’s sleepy…” he says, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

“I don’t wanna be,” I say, grazing my fingertips down his warm back. “It means this’ll have to end. And I don’t want it to.”

“Me, neither,” he says, voice muffled by my skin. “But we have tomorrow morning… what time do you have to leave?”

I shrug and shake my head. “Before lunch, that’s all.”

“Then we have plenty of time,” he says. “It’s late now, anyway. We should sleep.” He cranes his neck to look at the clock. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

I chuckle a little bit and sit up in his bed, pulling the sheet with me. Now that the sex is over, being naked almost feels more intimate than before. Being with him now feels like how we’re always together - like best friends. Except now we’re best friends who see each other without clothes on.

Instead of sitting up with me, though, he lays down. I glance at him and he looks at me expectantly before I say, “I’m cold. I don’t sleep naked like a caveman.”

He rolls his eyes and nods, getting up off the bed naked as the day is long with absolutely no shame whatsoever. I can’t help it - I watch him from the back without even trying to resist. All of his muscles are sturdy and tight; rippling beneath his skin in the most beautifully subtle ways as he moves. He really is a work of art.

“Are you staring at my ass?” he asks, still facing away from me as he opens the top drawer of his dresser.

“What?” I say, too quickly.

“You were totally staring at my ass,” he says, pulling on a clean pair of underwear as he turns back around. “I feel violated.” He tosses me a long-sleeved t-shirt of his and then hands me the blue underwear that had been discarded to the foot of the bed. I let the sheet drop a little, not missing his eyes darting to my chest, and pull the shirt on before replacing my underwear on my body under the covers.

The shirt is big on me and goes past my hands, so I push the fabric back and find my way out of the sleeves before lying back down next to Jackson, who’s already on his back again. “I’m wiped out, too,” he says. “Being a high schooler for a night got me exhausted.”

“And I have to do that every single day,” I say, looking at him from where I rest on my side.

He had closed his eyes, but opens them after I speak. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, extending one arm out straight. “I know you’re cuddly as hell, you better get over here.”

I giggle and gravitate close to his side, pulling the covers up tight around us. I wrap my arm around his middle, where my hand shifts to rest on the small of his back as he turns on his side to face me. He smells like faint cologne, boy sweat, and something that’s just him. I touch the tip of my nose to his sternum and breathe in, and he asks, “Are you sniffing me?”

“Maybe.”

He laughs and winds one arm around me to keep me near him. Feeling brave, I slide my hand down from the small of his back over the round of his butt and take a firm handful. “Jesus,” he says under his breath, squeezing me closer. “You are really damn handsy.”

“It’s kinda hard not to be,” I say, blushing as the words come out.

“I know the feeling.”

As the smile dies away from my face, I start to drift into sleep. After my legs twitch for the first time, I feel Jackson move and take my glasses off and set them in the headboard above us. He kisses my cheek as my eyes are closed, and wraps both arms around me for the night.

\---

In the morning, I wake up in the same position we fell asleep in and notice that we’re both sweating. The sun is shining in from the window on the other side of his room, making it much hotter in here than it was last night. He’s still asleep pressed right up against me, breathing deeply and rhythmically, and I relish the sound of it. I glance up to see his sleeping face and run my thumb over his cheekbone - just gently enough so it won’t wake him up.

I’m lying here mostly naked with the boy who I gave my virginity to. I take notice of my body, which feels different than it did even just yesterday. I’m admittedly a little sore, but it’s not just that. It’s more than that - I feel changed, and I feel like it’s visible, too.

I forgot to pray last night, so I close my eyes and do a tiny sign of the cross. I wonder how blasphemous it is that I’m praying while lying wrapped up with Jackson in the bed that we had sex in merely hours ago, but I don’t dwell on the thought for long because I concentrate on the words in my head. Once I’m done talking to God, I wonder if I should be asking for forgiveness.

I know I disobeyed His law and my parents. Right now, they think I’m at Lexie’s. I only just earned my mom’s trust back, and then I go and do this without even really thinking twice about it. What kind of awful person am I? Was it a rash decision to give my virginity away - had I really been ready?

I look up at Jackson and study him; with his eyes shut, his eyelashes are gracefully touching his skin in the most perfect, divine way. He has tiny freckles across the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose - they’re so tiny and deliberate that I could stare at them forever and not get tired of it. His lips are parted just slightly, their perfect pink so tempting to me because I know how soft and plush they are. I love everything about him - I realize I don’t regret what I did. I know he loves me. There’s no questioning that.

I can’t help but think back to what my mom said during our confrontation a while ago, though. _There’s no way someone like him could ever be your husband_.

I don’t believe her. Looking up at this perfect boy, I don’t believe her.

It’s a strange concept to me, but I’m slowly learning that not everything my parents say is right. There are a hundred sides to everything, and just because there’s a certain side that I’m comfortable with doesn’t necessarily mean that that side is the right one.

I kiss Jackson’s bare chest and smile against his heartbeat. When something feels this good, it can’t be bad. I know that for sure.

I wriggle out of my shirt because the heat is nearly unbearable, and my shifting and moving wakes him up after the shirt’s on the floor. “This is a sight I could get used to,” he says sleepily, kissing my forehead. “Morning, Apricot.”

He runs one finger down my bare spine and I give him a long kiss on the lips. “Morning, Jackie.”

“No,” he says, fighting a grin.

“You get to call me Apricot, I get to call you Jackie.”

“Who says? Whose convoluted rules are these?” he asks, eyelids still heavy.

“Mine,” I say, and my hand seems to act on its own as it slips between our bodies to run over his stiffness pressed up against my thigh. He blinks his eyes open and takes in a surprised breath, directing his gaze down at me.

“What’re you up to, blind bat?” he asks, reaching up to the headboard so he can gently put my glasses back on me.

My fingers are trembling, but I keep going. I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing, but I can feel him hardening even more beneath my touch, and that fact is empowering. My eyes flit up to him and I see that he’s taken his lower lip between his teeth and his eyelids are fluttering. “April…” he says.

“Yeah?”

I push back the covers and sit up in just my underwear, feeling the sweat as it cools and dries on my upper body. “Are you gonna…”

I look down between his legs and see that he’s created a tent out of his boxers as I’ve continued to touch him. Seeing that reaction, I feel myself get a little aroused, too. Now that I know what that feeling is. “What?”

“Are you about to… give me a handjob?”

Handjob. I put the words together - hand, job. The cogs work in my brain at top speed, but I’m still not sure what the term means. I wish Lexie were here. No, I don’t.

“Uh…”

He opens his eyes fully and meets mine. “Jerk me off with your hand?” he clarifies.

I look again between his legs and can see the exact outline of him just underneath the fabric, then decide that yes, I want to. “Yeah,” I say, sitting up on my knees instead of criss-crossed.

“Oh, god, okay,” he says. “Hold on.” He leans over, which knocks my hand off of his lap, and reaches underneath the bed to come up with a pump bottle of lotion. “This… helps,” he says, with some difficulty.

I open my hands and he squirts a few pumps of lotion into my palms, then takes his boxers off as I rub it into my skin. I can’t help but let my eyes widen when he’s fully bare in front of me, and I find myself scared to touch it without the barrier of clothes.

“You don’t have to, you know,” he says, smiling. “Like I said, I’m never gonna make-”

I don’t let him finish his sentence. Before he can say anything else, I jut my arm out and grab the base of his penis in my fist, which makes him flinch.

“That’s - that’s a little tight,” he says. “Go a little softer.” I loosen my fingers and look at him for validation, nervous tension spreading through my chest and stomach. “Well, you can go tighter than that,” he says, and I try to adjust. “Your…” He shifts his hips and props himself up on his elbows. “Your nails are… um, they’re a little long, babe. You’re kinda scratching me.”

My hands retreat back to my lap and I stare down at my knees, embarrassed and frustrated. I feel stupid for even trying; I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to do something like that.

“Hey…” he says, sitting up all the way. It’s hard to miss his erection between us. “Don’t feel bad. Baby… you had sex for the first time last night. You don’t need to rush. It’s a learning process. And the best part is… the learning is gonna be really fucking fun.” He moves my messy hair out of my face. “And you don’t have to worry about a dumb handjob. It’s something I can do myself, anyway. Not a big deal. I promise.”

I sigh a bit defeatedly and slouch my shoulders in. “I just wanted to make you feel good,” I say.

“There are better ways,” he says, making me giggle as he playfully shoves me to lie beneath him. He opens his lips on my stomach, running his tongue up between my ribcage and then taking one of my breasts in his mouth. My eyelids flutter shut and one of my knees bends up towards the ceiling as he sucks on me harder, and I grip his head between my hands and press hard with my fingers.

“Can we try again from last night?” I ask. He makes a low sound and drags his teeth over my hardened nipple, then smiles.

“Is that even a question?” he asks, mouth moving against me. “Of course.”

He does the same thing as last night with the condom and lube and then goes for my underwear. As I watch him drink me in, his eyes flash as they pass between my legs. “What?” I ask, and snap my knees together because I’m feeling self-conscious.

“Stop,” he says, prying my knees apart again.

“What was the face for?”

“It was a good face,” he says, slipping my underwear off and then holding them up. “You’re wet.”

My eyes widen as I see a damp patch in the middle of my underwear, and I rocket up from my lying down position to snatch them from him. I ball them up in my fist and then cover my vagina with my hand, wondering what could’ve possibly happened down there. My face is flaming. What did I do? And why does he think that whatever it is is a good thing?

It doesn’t take more than a beat for him to realize he needs to calm me down. “It’s girls’ natural lubricant,” he says, pulling my underwear out of my hand and tossing them. “It’s healthy. Breathe, you’re okay, Apricot.”

“I thought I peed or something,” I breathe, relief washing over me.

“Wet is just like, a term people say I guess,” he says, adjusting my knees to rest on either side of his torso. “You ready?”

I nod and when he thrusts inside me, my hips rise to meet his. It’s not as scary as the first time, I don’t feel like he’s going to split me open - but the pressure is still there. Along with the pressure, though, comes a good feeling that’s similar to the one that I feel when his head is between my thighs.

He pumps his hips slowly for a while - he has his orgasm first, but he doesn’t give up until I get mine, too. Once it starts, he smiles proudly and starts pushing a little harder, which makes me lose my breath and throw my head back in a silent scream as everything comes unwound within me. He captures my mouth in a heady kiss that involves hot breath and exploring tongues, and when everything is over, I wipe my mouth from where our saliva has mixed together on my chin.

We’re panting next to each other when he says, “Sorry about that,” in regards to the drool.

I laugh and shake my head, wiping the wet spot that’s now on my wrist onto his arm. “Don’t say sorry.”

“Why, because I just gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life?” I cover my face with my hands and shake my head, but I’m unable to keep the grin off my lips. He gets close to my ear and whispers, “That’s what I thought.”

We eventually get out of bed, and I bring my overnight bag with me into the bathroom when I go to shower. “I have one rule,” he says, lingering by the doorway. “You can’t waste water around here. This place is used to only one person showering, and I have to, too…”

I lean with one hand on the countertop. “Do you think you’re coming in with me, or something?”

He chuckles and walks my way, taking my waist in his arms. “I was hoping so, yeah,” he murmurs, the tips of our noses touching.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Turn the water on. I don’t know how to work your futuristic shower.”

“Futuristic,” he scoffs, and leans in to turn on the water. Once it’s hot enough, I unload my toiletries from my bag and gather them in my arms to set them on the shelf in the shower. He looks at me through the glass pane with a dubious look on his face. “Did you really feel the need to bring your own shampoo and conditioner?” he asks.

I hold up the bottle of his Dial brand and raise my eyebrows. “I figured you’d have something as horrible as this. And I can’t wash my hair with glorified dish soap.”

“Ooh, my girlfriend’s so fancy,” he says, closing the glass door as he gets in with me. I start to wash my hair and he stands there, watching me and not doing anything else.

“Showers are for getting clean,” I say, lathering up my hair.

“I really can’t reach,” he says.

“You can’t reach your own head to shampoo it,” I say, monotone.

“No,” he says. “It’s very sad and unfortunate.”

“You are very sad and unfortunate, you’re right.”

“If only there was someone who could help me…” he trails off, looking at me with puppy-dog eyes that he knows will win me over.

I squirt my shampoo into my hand and then turn him around so I can work it through his hair. Once it’s all in, I direct him under the showerhead. “Okay, time to rinse, you child,” I say.

“Can’t forget conditioner,” he says, hands on my hips as I rinse the shampoo out of my own hair.

“Oh, never,” I say.

After we’re all clean, we get out and head to the kitchen to make breakfast. We both smell like coconut and vanilla thanks to my hair products, and his hair is softer than ever. I find a clean pair of underwear and he gives me a fresh t-shirt of his to wear, and as I sit on the counter with wet hair dressed in my boyfriend’s clothes, I realize  this is the freest I’ve ever felt in my life.

We take a short break from cooking breakfast when the song ‘Let’s Stay Together’ by Al Green comes on the J Loves A playlist that’s playing in the background. He turns it up and picks me up off the counter to dance me around the kitchen, arms around my waist and his forehead pressed to mine before taking my hand and twirling me out dramatically. When he twirls me back, I take his opposite hand and we giggle close to each other’s faces before getting back to breakfast.

Back at the stove, once the song changes to something calmer - his hip is cocked to one side and the muscles in his bare back are positioned just right. I could watch him forever.

“I have something for you,” he says, spatula moving around in the frying pan of eggs that he’s scrambling.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” he says. “One more thing for your birthday. I just wanted to be with you when you opened it, so I saved it.” He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “It’s on the bookshelf in the living room, wrapped in pink paper.”

“Ooh, pink,” I say, and hop off the counter in search of it. I come back to the kitchen once it’s in my hands and hop back up on the counter. “Can I open it?”

He finishes up with the eggs and dishes us each a plate. He walks over to where I stand and leans on the counter, nodding me along.

I unwrap it slowly and see that it’s a photo album. I look at him confusedly, and he keeps on nodding. I narrow my eyes and flip open the front cover, where I see he’s written a note.

_For the only one I’ve ever ‘seen,’ on her 18th birthday_

_Happy birthday my girl_

_I love you_

My eyes well up and I haven’t even gotten to the photo portion of the book yet. I stare down at the note and then glance back up at him to see that he’s got a small, proud grin on his lips. “Keep going,” he says.

I open the book to see myself plastered over all of the pages. I see myself sitting in the quad, the eraser end of my pencil in my mouth as I’m leaned over a book. I see myself asleep on his couch with my tights-covered feet propped up on a pillow, hands folded on my stomach. I see myself sitting on my knees in a brown armchair in Arts & Letters, reading over his work on his MacBook. I see myself from a distance, walking towards the camera with my hands on the straps of my backpack, looking up at the sky. There are some pictures with him in them, too, and yet I’m still unaware. He’s posing studiously, stroking his long, fake beard as I have his poetry book on my lap, mouth open as I read aloud. In another one, he’s pretending to be asleep with his eyes closed but wearing a big smile, as I really am asleep sitting up on his living room floor with my back leaned against the couch.

The book is full of moments I never knew he captured.

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmur, running my finger over the details of the photos. “Why would you do this for me?”

He snorts incredulously. “It was the least I could do,” he says. “April, I love you. And you’re always saying… you always say that I see you. And I do. Fuck, do I see you. Sometimes so much that you’re kind of blinding me. And I wanted to show you that. I’m in love with every little thing you do. Every little silly, mundane, cute thing in this book… and these are just scraping the surface. I could make a million of these books and it wouldn’t be enough.”

I close the cover and hold the photo album close to my chest. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” I say.

“Nothing,” he says. “With the risk of sounding insanely fucking cheesy, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

\---

I walk into school on Monday morning feeling like a different person. I smile at people who I pass in the hallway, clutching my books to my chest, unbothered even if they don’t smile back. I’m a bit early today, so when Lexie stops at my locker we have a few free minutes to chat.

She rests against the locker next to mine, facing me but looking over my shoulder, over my head, anywhere but my eyes. It’s almost like she doesn’t realize I’m there, like I’m invisible or something. I’m confused, so I say, “Lexie?”

She gasps, being dramatic by pressing her hand to her heart. “Oh, April? Is that you?” I scrunch up my eyebrows at her. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t recognize you without your virginal glow.”

I clap my hands over my mouth and then shove her. “Shut up,” I say, then push her again for good measure.

Mark saunters up to us a few seconds later, leaning on the locker on the side of mine that Lexie’s not on. He peers close to me, and I cringe away from him when he pops my personal bubble. “How was the sex?” he asks creepily.

My eyes widen and I take a step back from my locker so I can look at both of them. “You told him?!” I hiss.

Lexie shrugs. “I tell him everything. And who’s he gonna tell, his mom? Dude has no friends. Here, at least. The people at the old folks’ home probably know all about it by now.”

Mark glares at Lexie, and all she does is smile angelically in response.

“So?” Mark asks again.

“What?” I snap, glancing at the clock.

“How was it? Your Avery boy was good-looking, I’ll give him that. But can he walk the walk?”

“I’m literally not talking to you,” I say, walking in the direction of AP Bio.

Mark laughs. “I have a feeling it was good. But that’s just my opinion. When you wanna gush about it, Kepner, you know where to find me.”

I fake-glower at him over my shoulder as Lexie and I walk away. “Yeah, in remedial math,” I say. “Goodbye, Mark.”

We continue to walk down the hallway and Lexie keeps her voice at a reasonable level. “So, for real,” she says. “How was it?”

I look at her and then check around to make sure there’s no one around who shouldn’t be hearing this. But everyone is passing us by, uncaring. “Amazing,” I whisper.

“ _Yes_ ,” she says. “Did you bleed?”

I shake my head.

“Did it hurt?”

“A little,” I say. “Not really a stabbing pain or anything. Just kind of like… uncomfortable at first? But the second time was-”

“The second time?!”

I can’t keep the smile off my face. “Yeah,” I say. “In the morning.”

“Holy shit, April Mary is having morning sex,” Lexie says. “Wait. Did you follow my advice?” I nod. She says, “Tell.”

“Um…” I begin, suddenly feeling awkward saying it out loud. “Before we, like, did it the normal way… he said he wanted to - um, make _me_ feel good, I guess, so he… with his mouth…”

“Oh,” she says casually. “He ate you out?”

I freeze and give her an astonished look. “There was no _eating_ ,” I insist.

Lexie starts to laugh, throwing her head back and grabbing my arm for support. “April,” she gasps. “Not what I mean. It’s a saying. That’s not what he called it? What did he call it?”

I shake my head, lips pressed together. I don’t want to say it out loud.

“He seems like the type who might call it giving head,” Lexie says, pondering.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I say, taking her wrist. “He told me he was gonna go down on me, and I had no idea what that even _was_ , I didn’t even know it was a thing. You could’ve told me! It would’ve made me look a lot less stupid.”

“I’m sure you didn’t look stupid to him,” she tells me. “I’m sure he thought you were hot. I’m sure he thought you were sexy as-”

“No.”

She snorts. “I saw the way he was looking at you when we walked up at prom. You might not’ve noticed, but I did. And that boy’s got it _so_ bad for you, Apes.”

I look at her with a glint in my eye as we walk into Bio. “Yeah?”

She nods, affirming me. “Oh, yeah.”

After gym is over later in the day, I’m dripping with sweat from the soccer unit. The weather has begun to get warmer, so we spent all class outside on the turf kicking around a ball and running for our lives for no apparent reason. Mrs. Altman made us run suicides after she got mad because neither team was scoring any goals, and now I think I might’ve lost a third of my body weight in perspiration.

Lexie and I don’t even have the energy to make conversation. She changes fast because she wants to meet Mark, and I take my time because I’m so exhausted. I sit on the bench in between the rows of lockers in my knee socks and skirt while I dig around in my gym bag for my deodorant. Once I smell decent, I stand up to get my blouse from my locker only to be intercepted by Izzie Stevens coming out of nowhere and slamming my locker door shut - almost on my fingers.

“Hey!” I say instinctively, jumping back with fright. “You almost got my fingers.”

“Oops, sorry,” she says, then gets way too close to me. She’s still in her gym clothes and I can smell her sweat from how close she is; it’s not pleasant and I really don’t like it. “Where’s your cross necklace, Virgin Mary?” I touch my neck in response, knowing that I’ll find nothing there. I don’t wear any jewelry anymore since Jackson’s necklace was taken from me. “And what are all these…?” Her eyes drift down my body to land on my torso, where I have a straight line of five hickies from the band of my bra to my bellybutton. I cover them with my hand, but she’s already seen them. “Hickies…?” she says maliciously.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t say any-”

“You got laid?” she asks, laughing. “Fucking Kepner got laid.”

“Leave her alone, Izzie,” Callie says, her voice coming from around the corner. She’s reapplying her lipstick, looking as nonchalant as ever. “Aren’t you bored of it by now?”

Izzie narrows her eyes at Callie and I’m equally as confused. I thought, at one point, they’d been friends. I don’t know how right I was in thinking that, though.

“Fuck off, Callie,” Izzie spits, still in my space. “Since when are you and Kepner besties? Ever since you had your little lesbionic gay ass crush on her?”

My cheeks flame not for myself, but for Callie. I’m not sure if Izzie is saying that because she knows it for a fact, or if it’s just something that everyone assumed but me. As usual, I was in the dark.

“Shut up,” Callie grumbles. “You really, really need to shut up.”

“Or what?” Izzie taunts. My head is volleying between the both of them - it seems like they’ve almost forgotten that I’m here and why this all started. “Are you ashamed of your crush on little Kepner? Doesn’t really seem like your type, Callie. Guess you wanted to go for someone who wouldn’t fuck you over. Stay safe, right?”

“Izzie, I don’t think you-” I begin, but I get cut off.

“Who fucking cares?!” Callie counters, raising her voice. It doesn’t bypass me how she doesn’t negate the crush on me, and I take a second to figure out how I feel about that. I don’t really care, but it makes a lot of sense. So Jackson was right. Maybe.

“Who fucking cares who has a crush on who? Do you ever think that there are more important things than this shit?” Callie continues.

Izzie walks past me, shoulder checking me along the way. I stumble and fall back on the bench, then hurry to button up my blouse while I keep watching them. For some reason I can’t look away.

“You probably think about her at night, don’t you,” Izzie says, her voice breathy and conniving. I was wrong all along in thinking that Callie was the evil one - Izzie seems to be the worst of all. There’s a gleeful glint in her eyes that she’s gotten from being mean, and it’s scaring me. “Do you think about girls and touch yourself, Callie? You’re just so fucking sexually frustrated that you can’t have that little piece of ass that you don’t know what to do with yourself. I don’t forget this shit, you have to know that… how fucking stupid can you be?” She chuckles and shakes her head. “You know you’re going to hell for it, right?”

I notice that my hands are gathered into fists that are shaking by my sides. “Enough, Izzie,” I say. “If anyone’s going to Hell, it’s you. You’re so mean. For no reason.”

Izzie flips around and sends her blonde ponytail swinging. “Oh, it speaks,” she says, taking a few steps towards me. “What, do you want her to be your big bad lady friend? Does that turn you on? Maybe you want Callie to give you some more hickies, how does that sound? Does that turn you on, Fuckie?”

I don’t answer her. Instead, I clench my jaw and stare at a spot past her shoulder on the opposite wall, refusing to react. As usual, I feel like crying, but I keep my tears at bay. She hasn’t won this and I don’t want her to think that she has. 

“What? Don’t have anything to say?” Izzie prods. “So it does turn you on. So your man at prom was just a beard, right? What will your Catholic as fuck parents say when you tell them you’re a lesbian?”

“I’m not a lesbian,” I say, but it’s not strong enough. I meant for it to come out firmer.

“Well, don’t tell that to Callie,” Izzie says. I look behind her over to Callie, whose eyes are glassy as she concentrates on putting on mascara. “You’ll crush her dreams.”

“I think you should stop talking about her like that,” I say, even as my voice shakes. “It’s not very nice.”

“ _Not very nice_ …” Izzie whines. “I know more about Callie than anyone else does.”

“Then why are you being so mean to her?” I pipe up.

Izzie raises her eyebrows at me. “Found your voice, did you?” She laughs. “We’re not friends. None of us are. You should know about friendlessness better than anyone, Fuckie, don’t you? I was never Callie’s friend and she was never mine, but she made the mistake of telling me all about her dirty little thoughts about you.”

“Izzie, I’m warning you. Shut the fuck up,” Callie says.

I just want to get out of here, but now Izzie is on my opposite side and blocking the door. The rest of the girls have filtered out and the late bell will ring any second now. “Fuckie is looking at me with the nastiest look on her face right now,” Izzie smiles. “What are you gonna do, punch me like your pussy ass, fake ass boyfriend punched mine at prom?”

My face must turn beet red, because I get so angry that I start to sweat. “Don’t talk about him like that,” I growl. I can deal with my own ridicule any day - I’m used to it. But I won’t stand here and listen to her talk badly of Jackson, who doesn’t deserve it and isn’t even here to defend himself.

“Aw, or what are you gonna do?” Izzie asks.

“Izzie, just let it the fuck go,” Callie says. “We’re gonna be late for fourth.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Izzie asks, circling me. “Kepner wants to fight me right now. I can tell.” She juts her neck out so our noses are centimeters apart. “So do it. Hit me. Fucking hit me, little girl. I dare you.”

I don’t hit her. I don’t even meet her eyes. Her breath is assaulting me with the bitter scent of cinnamon and it’s making my eyes water. I straighten my spine, set my shoulders, and grit my teeth together. I won’t give in to her. It’s what she wants, and I won’t give her that satisfaction.

“Pussy,” she spits, and shoves me by the shoulders. “Your boyfriend must really hate himself if he’s with you. I feel bad for you, Fuckie, being with a bitch ass like that.”

Then, I snap. I put all my weight behind my arms and shove her chest as hard as I can, and since it takes her by surprise, she stutter-steps backwards and knocks the back of her head on the locker behind her. I hear Callie gasp, and time moves in slow motion. Izzie’s face turns from anger to shock and back to anger in a split second as she rubs the spot, and I honestly fear for my life.

“You’re gonna fucking regret that,” she says. “You really don’t know what you just did.” She picks up her stuff and glares at me with flaming brown eyes. “You really, really don’t know what you just did."

Izzie storms away and I stand in place, trembling. I turn my head to look at Callie, but her back is turned to me. “With the stuff she said-”

“Forget about it,” she mutters, and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Leave it alone. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh - okay,” I say, wringing my hands. As she walks away, I call after her one last time. “Do you think she meant… you know, what she said?”

Callie turns back around and looks at me soberly. “Yes,” she says. “She definitely did.”

\---

Jackson sneaks in my window tonight, past midnight. We planned it out earlier, and I took a nap right after school so I wouldn’t be sleepy. My family has been asleep for hours, and the two of us are in our underwear under the covers of my twin bed - him on top of me.

When I invited him over, I hadn’t planned for us to have sex. I don’t think he planned for it either, but when we caught sight of each other everything just happened so quickly. Benign touches turned into stripping each other which turned into, in Arizona’s words, heavy petting.

And now we’re here.

“How was school today,” he breathes, mouth open on my neck as he slides one hand down my torso.

I shake my head and feel my hips writhe with desire. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” I whisper.

“Understandable.”

“Just wanna think about you,” I say, keeping my voice low and quiet. If my parents catch us, I’ll be beyond dead. I’d never see the light of day again, but I need him. The risk is worth the payoff.

The sex jams playlist is playing as quietly as possible for us to still hear it, right on the nightstand by our heads. He moves his hand lower on my torso until it dips inside my underwear, and my hips twitch upwards to meet his fingers. “Did you ever listen to this playlist with your old girlfriends?” I ask.

“No,” he says, and then slips two fingers inside of me. I gasp, and he continues to talk. “I made it for us. When I was cleaning my room before prom night.”

“Oh,” I say, but it comes out as more of a moan. He disappears beneath the covers and pulls my underwear the rest of the way down, then attaches his lip to my core while still pumping his fingers in and out of me.

It takes all I have to contain myself as I come. I press my lips together as my hips quake, and he drags his fingernails up my ribcage before reappearing beside me.

“I love you,” I whisper. “Did you bring a condom?”

“I hope to God,” he says, then leans over me to dig around in his jeans pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a golden-wrapped foil packet proudly, and puts it on in a hurry. He braces his arms on either side of my head and opens his mouth against mine as he pushes inside me, and I bite down on his lower lip to get a moan out of him. It works, which makes electricity buzz through my entire body.

He grinds slower, scooping his hips so he hits me at a new angle, and my eyes roll back in my head. “Oh, my gosh, Jackson,” I moan, and he widens his eyes and claps his hand over my mouth.

“You have to be quiet,” he hisses. “You don’t want Mom and Daddy finding their sweet little angel like this, do you?”

I smile deviously and bite down on his fingers, which makes him replace his hand with his mouth and keep me quiet that way.

When he comes, he sucks the skin in the middle of my chest into his mouth and works it with his teeth, probably planning on leaving another hickey. As long as it’s not visible with a shirt on, I’m fine with it - in fact, it turns me on that he likes leaving his mark on me. I can tell he’s holding back so my bed won’t squeak because his hips are bucking erratically without any rhythm during his orgasm, and once it’s finished he helps me to my second one with his fingers while he’s still inside me.

When it’s over, he kisses my neck as I pant and try to come back to earth. I scrape my nails down his back in a repetitive pattern and relish the feeling of his lips on my breasts as our bodies are still intertwined.

“I shoved Izzie Stevens today,” I say, my voice a very low whisper as we lay nose-to-nose. He runs his fingers through my hair and looks at me with surprise.

“You what?”

“Well, she shoved me first,” I clarify. “But I shoved her back and she hit her head on a locker, and I think she’s gonna do something bad to me.”

“Are you ever gonna tell someone about these stupid fucking bullies?” he asks.

I frown and trace one finger down his chest. “I tell you.”

“I mean someone at school,” he says. “A teacher, a counselor, someone.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t work like that. Nothing gets done at that school. Their solution for everything is Jesus and praying.”

He presses his lips together. “Well then,” he says.

“Well then, what?”  

“Well then I’m gonna have to make sure something gets done,” he says.

“The reason I got so mad is because she was saying stuff about you,” I say. “Alex is her boyfriend. She’s mad about prom night.”

He chuckles. “I’d be mad too, if I were dating him.”

“She said you must hate yourself if you’re dating someone like me,” I say quietly, feeling gross for saying the same words that hurt me so badly earlier.

Anger flashes across his blue eyes. “I do not hate myself,” he growls. “And she can shut the fuck up and keep you out of her mouth.” He shakes his head and rests his hand on my neck with a thumb on my cheekbone. “Don’t listen to that shit.” He meets my eyes and makes me a silent promise before saying, “I’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”


	12. Chapter 12

A week later, after church on Sunday, Mom and I separate from the rest of our family and go out to lunch. She told me that she wants to talk to me about college and my plans for next year, and that conversation shouldn’t make me as nervous as it does. Ever since I started sneaking Jackson into my room to have sex, I feel like my mom can see right through me and around every corner is my imminent punishment. I’m not comfortable in my own house anymore thanks to the overwhelming guilt I feel every time I step outside my room, but at the same time knowing I can see Jackson at the end of each day is what’s getting me through. 

I hate feeling like I’m living a lie, though. I just don’t know what to do to make sure both sides of me get what they need. I don’t think a win/win scenario is possible at this point, but that’s still not something I can easily accept. 

Mom and I sit down across from each other at a little table and make small talk until we put our orders in. A stretch of silence follows after the waitress walks away, and I fold my hands on the tabletop and look around the restaurant as I wait for her to speak. I don’t know why she’s taking so long in bringing it up; I know what we’re here for. There’s no reason to put it off. 

“So let’s talk about next year,” she says, adjusting her silverware. 

“Okay.” 

“We’re so blessed in that we don’t have to worry about tuition, I know you already know that,” she says. “I expected nothing less from you. I am so proud of you for your scholarship, April. I really, really am.”

“Thanks, mom,” I say. 

“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” she says, clearing her throat. “We went through a rough patch not that long ago - the one with you and boys.” 

My stomach sinks and my mouth goes dry. 

“You’ve come back from it just like I knew you would. You never stopped being that Godly girl that I raised, but for a while she was shadowed by the temptation and sin of teenagers your age. Not many people have the strength you possess in turning yourself around, April. I mean that. Your transformation was amazing, and I’m glad I could be here for you during it. Myself, your father, our church… I believe all of those things helped you in repenting from what you did. And I expect you to stay on this same track next year when you’re a freshman, you know that. So what I wanted to talk to you about was the prospect of you living at home next year instead of on-campus like we’d originally planned.”

It takes a moment for her words to process. Living at home, under the same roof that I’m being oppressed under right now, as a college student. When I thought I’d finally be able to know freedom. 

I know my mom, but I never expected her to suggest something like this. It never crossed my mind that she’d want this for me. She let Libby go off on her own without a hitch, without a second thought. Why is it me who she’s holding back? 

“Mom… I…” 

“Hold on a minute,” she says. “Let me finish. On-campus housing costs upwards of $11,000 a year, April. That’s $11,000 that you could be saving by commuting - and it’s not even far to DePaul. You made the trip every day when you were still tutoring.” 

This is the first time she’s brought up tutoring in a while and it makes my hands clench into fists under the table. “But I have a scholarship,” I say. “Housing is covered by it.” 

“I know,” she says. “I’ve gone over it extensively with your father. We know everything is covered except books and materials. But with that said, waste not want not. In my opinion, if that’s $11,000 that you don’t have to use, you shouldn’t use it.” 

My nose starts to sting, which is a surefire sign that I’m going to cry soon. I feel cornered and put on the spot - I can’t think up a good reason why staying home is a bad idea other than the ones she can’t hear. I have no argument to back up my position, and I don’t know how to stand up for myself. 

“But it was given to me already,” I say. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t use it.” 

“Again, waste not want not,” Mom says, sounding pleased with herself. “I just want the best for you, Duckie girl. And I don’t want you straying down a path that you can’t come back from next year if you’re out on your own.” 

My breath rattles as I inhale. “Are you saying you can’t trust me?” I ask. 

My own words pack a punch as they pass my lips because she can’t. She can’t trust me. Right now, in this moment, my iPod Touch is buzzing with incoming texts from Jackson and I’m picturing his naked torso in my head. She can’t trust me. It’s a loaded, underhanded question. 

“Of course I’m not saying that,” she says. “I’m saying that I don’t want you to get into a situation where that is true. I trust you at home, with us. That’s where I want to keep you, just for a bit longer. Living at home, you can concentrate on what matters - your studies. Without being distracted by anything else.” 

“I wouldn’t be distracted,” I say. What I want to say is:  _ what’s so wrong with being a little distracted? When will I ever be allowed to be a normal teenager without having to hide every unsavory thought I have and praying for forgiveness because I have human desires? When am I going to stop feeling guilty for wanting to have sex with my boyfriend?  _ But of course, I say none of those things. 

“You think that,” Mom says. “Just like you probably thought that before you started tutoring. Things happen, April. The Devil spreads his sin everywhere, and even the best people fall for it. College is a breeding ground for just that, and I don’t want you falling prey to it.” She reaches over and holds my face in her hand. “I love you too much to see it happen again. I’m trying to keep you safe, sweetheart.” 

I stare into her eyes as mine turn glassy. As she sees that I’m about to cry, she strokes my cheek with her thumb and her face softens. “Oh, honey, I know,” she coos. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what exactly she’s apologizing for. I didn’t agree to anything, but I didn’t disagree either. “How come you let Libby go, then?” I ask.

She takes her hand away from my face and sets it back down on her lap. “Your sister is different than you,” she says. “I don’t worry about her with boys. Honey…” She looks both ways like we might have eavesdroppers. “Boys look at you. I know you’re not aware of this - Lord knows you shouldn’t be, and Lord knows they shouldn’t even  _ see _ you, but they look. And if you were to live on-campus, well, I’d just worry.” 

“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” I mutter. 

“I know you are,” she says. “I never said you weren’t. We’ve raised a strong, bright girl. I’d never be worried about that.” 

“So what you’re worried about is just boys, basically,” I say. 

“You’re putting words in my mouth a little bit, there,” she says, her smile turning fake. “Honey, I’m just not sure if you’re ready to spread your wings yet. Just one more year at home - that’s all I’m asking you to consider. Can you at least consider that for me?” 

The waitress brings our lunch and sets it down in front of us, and I don’t answer until she’s walked away. “Yes,” I say, and I mean it.

I’ve never felt more weighed down by guilt than I do right now.

\---

I shut myself in my room when we get home and take a long nap. I don’t wake up until it’s dark outside, then I work on my homework through dinner, trying to think of anything besides the conversation that Mom and I had earlier. I can’t think about it right now. I refuse to. 

I check my texts for the first time since before church and see that Jackson has been talkative. 

**RECEIVED: 1:18pm-** ru out of church? I wish i could see u today, ugh that religion ;) 

**RECEIVED: 1:30pm-** n no answer? Geez im rly getting ingnored hard for god today. No worries im jk w u i promise :) hope ur having a good day

**RECEIVED: 1:34pm-** i wish ur parents could b normal for like 1 second so u could come over here tonite n we could have dinner and stuff. I just miss u

**RECEIVED: 2:01pm-** sry for the sentimental. Back to being macho now 

**RECEIVED: 6:32pm-** hey where ru today? Ru ok? Call me if u need to

**RECEIVED: 7:09pm-** hey im starting to get a little worried about u…. Am i coming over tonite as usual? 

**RECEIVED: 7:49pm-** ok april im gonna start heading ur way. Ur silence is freaking me out 

I glance at the clock and see that it’s around a quarter after 8 now, so I type out a response quickly. 

**SENT: 8:17pm-** i’m fine. I didn’t mean to disappear all day, I was just going through some stuff with my mom about next year. I wasn’t ignoring you.

**SENT: 8:17pm-** I don’t think it’s the best idea for you to come over tonight. I’m sorry

But as I press send on the last message, I hear the all-too-familiar ‘tap, tap, tap’ on my window. I was too late. I get up from my spot on the bed and yank it open, then he steps in before I can say anything about it. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, sitting on the window ledge once he’s all the way inside. “What was going on today? I didn’t hear from you. Kinda freaked me out.” 

“I just texted you back,” I say, holding up the iPod. “Did you get it?” 

He shakes his head and pulls out his phone, scrolling through to find our messages. I watch his face change as he reads what I sent. “Wait, what?” he asks. “I didn’t get this. I was driving. What’s going on?” 

I turn away and walk to my door, locking it and staying a good distance away from him. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here tonight,” I say. 

His eyebrows furrow together and he stands up from the window. “It’s not like we have to fuck… that’s not why I came over. That’s not why I come over, you know? You know that, right?” 

“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the wall near my closet. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says, sounding wounded. “April, what’s wrong?” I can’t handle hearing him sound like this. My mom has already pulled me so hard in one direction today, and now he’s pulling me just as hard in the other. 

I let out a short, frustrated sigh. “Nothing, okay?” I stand on one leg to pull off the tights that I’ve been wearing all day. “I’m fine. I’ve just been talking to my mom about some stuff today and it’s on my mind.” 

“Is that why you don’t think I should be here tonight?” he asks, shaking his head. “April, you can’t listen to-” 

“Sometimes she’s right,” I cut in. “No, not all the time. But sometimes she does know what she’s talking about. And she knows me. She’s my mom. She’s… she’s known me my whole life.”

He stares at me hard for a moment - blue eyes wide and concerned. “What were you guys talking about, then?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” I say dismissively. I’m not ready to discuss it with him, not when it’s so fresh in my mind and I don’t even know what to think of it for myself yet. I already know what he’ll do; he’ll get mad in my defense and I’ll have to choose a side. And I’m not ready for that.

“It does matter,” he insists. “I wanna hear. I always wanna hear.” 

“I know,” I say exasperatedly, pulling my dress off over my head after turning around. “I just don’t wanna talk about it.”

“With me.” 

“With anyone,” I say, voice rising. “But yeah. I’m just not ready. I just have a lot on my mind, okay? My senior year is ending, everything is happening, school...sucks as usual…” 

“Are those fucks still bothering you?” he asks, gritting his teeth together so his jaw flexes. 

“What?” I say, slipping into my nightgown and running a brush through my hair. “What, yeah. Of course they are, you know that. I told you that. Of course having them in my everyday life isn’t helpful, but it’s more than that. It’s a lot, okay, Jackson? And I just can’t have you here tonight. I’m sorry. I missed you, too, it’s not that I don’t miss you…” I look over at him and see that he’s concentrating heavily on a specific spot on my wall with his hands capped over his knees. 

Everyone’s mission is to make me feel guilty today, or so it seems. 

“It’s not you,” I say, walking towards him. 

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to take a long breath in. “Not you, it’s me. Right?” 

“Don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t say that. That’s not it and you know it.” 

He tears his eyes from the wall to meet mine. “You’re not acting like yourself,” he says. “I just want you to talk to me.” 

On the inside, my body feels like it’s ripping itself apart. “I can’t,” I say. “I just need to figure this out myself.” 

“I can’t do anything to help,” he says, more of a statement than a question. 

I shake my head no and say, “I’m sorry.” I stand between his knees and frame his face in my hands and give him a gentle kiss. He kisses me back, but it’s not like usual. 

“Just talk to me when you’re ready, then, I guess” he says, and his tone is clipped and forced. 

“I will,” I say, and run my hands down his shoulders. He’s tense and his outer clothes are cool in temperature from being outside. “I just need some time.” 

He nods, trying to understand. “So I guess I’ll be going,” he says, then glances up to meet my eyes again. “You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yes,” I say. He encircles his arms around my waist and rests his head on my chest as we hug, then rubs my back and holds on tight. “I love you, baby,” I whisper, stroking his head. 

“I love you,” he responds, voice muffled by his cheek pressed against me.

He stands up and gets halfway out the window before I say, “Don’t worry about me, okay?” 

He shakes his head and scoffs. “Impossible.” 

I watch him leave, scaling down the roof and then hitting the ground with expert grace. Usually, once he’s on his feet, he looks back up at me and gives me a smile and a wave, but tonight I don’t get either of those things.

I shut my blinds and get in bed, unlocking my door and flicking my light off. I pull out the iPod and debate texting him, but decide against it and turn on the J For A playlist, the first one that he ever gave me. Back before everything I felt was so complicated. 

\---

The next day is an early dismissal day for seniors, but I don’t tell my mom that. Instead, when the bell rings, I head to the library and set up at a study carroll so I can get some work done for AP English. I still have everything from yesterday on my mind, and my mom’s sickeningly sweet smiles this morning over breakfast didn’t help. I can’t stomach the thought of going home and hearing more about how staying under their roof next year will benefit me. I need to be away from them for as long as possible, at least until I can sift through how I feel about all this. 

Jackson hasn’t texted me all day. I know he’s mad at me for pushing him away, and I’m mad at him for  _ being _ mad even though I’m the one not communicating. He doesn’t have to know every thought passing through my head, because he can’t always help me. There are some things that I have to work through on my own, even though it might not be easy. He can’t make this decision for me. And my mom might think she can, but she can’t either. 

It depends on only me, which is something I’m not used to. 

I’m halfway through an outline for my research paper when my head gets yanked harshly back by my ponytail. I grab the spot where it stings and whip around to see Izzie Stevens standing there, looking furious. Apparently, she’s finally cashing in what I brought upon myself last week. 

“Get the fuck up,” she spits. “Come with me.” 

“Why?” I counter, resting my arm on the back of my chair. 

“Because I need to fucking talk to you,” she says, getting dangerously close to my face. Again, her breath is offensively cinnamony. 

I do as she says, and gather my things to follow her out of the library and down the main staircase. “Where are we going?” I ask. 

“Out of here,” she says. 

“I’m not leaving with you,” I say. 

“Never said you were,” she says, and pushes open the main doors and walks to the edge of the sidewalk, where she sits down on a short pillar. “I was thinking, this whole time since last week, what I was gonna do to you,” she says. “And I realized I was thinking way too hard about it.” 

“What are you talking about?” I ask. 

“I’m tired of looking at your fucking face,” she says, throwing her backpack off to the side. It skids and spins until it lands far away from us. I keep mine on, clutching the straps with white knuckles. “I’m tired of you thinking you’re better than me.” 

“I never said that,” I say. “I never… I don’t think that.” 

“You don’t need to  _ say _ it,” she says. “Everyone knows that’s how you are.” 

“How I am?” I ask again, confused. 

“What are you, a fucking parrot?” she barks. “You’re never gonna learn your lesson unless I teach it to you.” 

“I really… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, backing up slowly. “I don’t know what the lesson is supposed to be.” 

“Stop walking!” she demands. “Stop being a little bitch. I’m gonna hit you, and you’re gonna take it.” 

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” I ask, widening my eyes. “You’re not - we’re not… you - you can’t hit me.” 

She stomps over to me, rips my backpack off, and shoves me by the shoulders so I stumble backwards and catch myself on another low pillar. “Oh, I can’t?” she asks, and yanks down hard on my ponytail yet again. I wince and move my head with her to lessen the tension, but she just pulls harder. “Hit me back,” she says. “I fucking dare you. I know you want to.” 

“I don’t,” I squelch. It feels like she’s going to pull my hair out of my head by the follicles. “Let me go!” 

“No,” she says. “Not until you hit me.”

“I’m not gonna hit you!” 

“Then I’m gonna rip your hair out of your fucking scalp, you little bitch,” she hisses. 

“What is wrong with you?” I shriek. “Why do you hate me so much?” I somehow manage to wriggle out of her grip and face her from a few feet away, chest heaving with exertion. My head is throbbing. “What did I do to you to make you hate me?” I rub the back of my head and take my ponytail out. “Or do you just hate yourself so much that you have to take it out on me? Is that what’s wrong with you?”

“This isn’t about me,” Izzie says, nearing me again. “This is about you, you princess ass motherfucker.” She pushes me again, this time so hard that my butt smacks down on the concrete and my chin bounces against my chest. She hurries over and raises her leg to kick me, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream as I roll up in a ball and prepare for the impact. 

I don’t feel anything, though. Instead, I hear, “Izzie, leave her the fuck alone.” 

I don’t recognize the voice with my eyes shut and my arms over my head. When I look out, the last person I expected to see was Alex Karev, but he’s walking towards us. Well, actually, limping towards us. And the closer I look, the more I can see that his face is bloodied and mangled, along with his knuckles. There’s blood droplets running down the front of his shirt, his teeth are stained red, and both of his eyes are puffy and black. 

I gasp from the ground and he glances down, but says nothing to me. 

“Come on, Iz,” he says. “We’re leaving.”

She turns to look at him and gasps, too. “Oh, my god,” she says. “What the hell happened to you?”

He doesn’t answer in words. His eyes flit to the left, and when I follow them I see Jackson coming around from behind the school, looking worse for wear. He doesn’t look nearly as bad as Alex, but he doesn’t look good, either. 

“Fuck,” Izzie says, and supports her boyfriend. She turns back to me and takes in a breath to say something, but no words escape her. I’ve scrambled to my feet to grab my backpack, and I almost expect her to come for me. Beat me up like she intended. But she doesn’t. She turns her back and with Alex, she leaves. 

I run to Jackson with my backpack pounding my back with every step. As I get closer, I can see that his knuckles are bloody, his lip is split, and he has a nasty cut on his forehead. 

I start to cry at the sight of him. For a lot of reasons that I can’t pinpoint. 

“What did you do?” I sob. “What did you  _ do _ ?” 

I don’t let him answer before I throw myself into his arms at full force. I feel his breath gust out of him when our bodies collide, and I hold him as tightly as I can with the pads of my fingers digging into his shoulder blades. I sob into his chest and tremble against him, and he wraps his arms around my shoulders above my backpack. 

“I ended it,” he says. 

I don’t try to contain how loudly I’m sobbing. No one else is in the parking lot to hear me, and every single emotion is running through me. Anger, fear, anxiety, even relief. 

I pull away from him and as I look at his face, rage flows through me. “Why would you do something as stupid as that?” I ask, and push his chest. “Why would you do that?” I bite the middle of my top lip and feel tears pouring down my face to slide between my parted lips. “He could’ve killed you!” 

“He couldn’t have killed me,” Jackson says. “I beat the shit out of him. You saw what he looked like.” 

I shove him again, hard, but he doesn’t budge. He tightens his mouth and holds me at my shoulders firmly. “Stop it,” he says. “You’re mad, I get it.” 

“I’m not just mad!” I shriek. “I’m furious, I’m enraged, I’m… I’m…”

“You’re fucking pissed,” he says. “I know. I don’t exactly know why, but I get that you’re fucking pissed. But you can’t keep shoving my chest, because Alex punched me there and you’re hurting me.” 

I leave my fists balled up, but I don’t raise them again. I stand in front of him, panting, not knowing what to say next. 

“Why would you do this?” I ask. 

“Kepner?” I spin around and see Ms. Montgomery walking out of the school, a coffee thermos in hand. “Didn’t seniors have early dismissal today? Did you miss the bus?” 

“I - no,” I say, starting to walk in the direction of the cars with Jackson’s wrist in my grip. “I was just leaving. We were just going.” I wave at her. “See you tomorrow.” 

We walk to his car in silence, and when he turns it on the radio is playing loudly. He quickly turns it down and grips the steering wheel, but doesn’t shift the car into reverse. 

“Why would you do this?” I ask again, staring at the dashboard. 

“I had to,” he says, and presses the brake to shift gears. I turn my head to watch him, but don’t say anything in response. 

“Your place,” I say, my elbow resting on the armrest of my door. “I need to get you fixed up. You look awful.” 

We don’t talk in the car, even though I have a billion things running through my head. When we get to his apartment, I throw my backpack down and kick my shoes off, making my way to the kitchen for ice and the first aid kit that I know is in the cabinet. 

He’s sitting on the couch when I come back out to the living room, slouched over and looking at his knuckles. I’m bristling with both anger and protectiveness. He should’ve never done this, and I hate that he got hurt. And that he got hurt for me. 

I take the ice and lay it across the tops of his hands. “You shouldn’t have done what you did,” I say, looking down at his fingers. He stretches them out with some difficulty over the tops of my thighs, wincing as he goes. “That was a really stupid thing to do.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” he says, opening his mouth only a small bit to speak. If he opens it too wide, his lip will gush blood. He already has a trail of it dried on his chin. “That was the only thing that was gonna stop those fuckers from messing with you.” 

I whip my head up to look into his face. “I have one more month at that school,” I say. “A month. I could’ve lasted a month.” 

“Izzie was trying to hurt you,” he growls.

“But she didn’t,” I say. 

“Because Alex came along and told her to stop! And he told her that because I beat him within an inch of consciousness and told him that if he or any of his stupid fucking lackeys ever got near you again, I’d kill him. And he believed me, just like he should.” 

I dab at the wound on his forehead without warning him that the rubbing alcohol will sting. He flinches away from me, but I pull him back. “It needs to be cleaned,” I say sternly. 

“I don’t get why you’re fucking mad at me for defending you,” he says. “I thought you’d be happy.” 

I breathe heavily through my nose. “This isn’t medieval times, Jackson,” I say. “You don’t have go around defending my honor and beating people up to assert your dominance. Nowadays, we use our words.” 

“Don’t talk down to me,” he says, his voice low. 

“I wasn’t.” 

“And I wasn’t defending your honor or whatever,” he says. “They’ve tortured you for years, April. When has using words with them ever helped? Ever?” For a single second, my eyes flit from the gash on his head down to lock with his, then they move back up. “That’s what I thought. Words don’t work with them, they only make things worse. This was the only thing that would’ve worked.” 

“No, it’s not,” I say, unwrapping a bandage and pressing it over the wound. “I could’ve gone to someone. Told someone. Ms. Montgomery, Principal Webber, somebody.” 

“And when did you plan on doing that?” he snaps. “I’ve asked you to, then told you to, and you wouldn’t. And you never would have, so don’t lie. You’re not a liar.” 

I laugh sardonically, one little chuckle. “Yes, I am,” I say under my breath. 

“What?” 

“I am a liar,” I say, eyes narrowing. “I’ve been lying to my family and my church for months.” 

There’s a charged silence between us; I can almost feel the air crackling. 

“April, if you don’t want to be with me, just fucking say so,” he says. “I’m tired of… out of the blue, getting this guilt trip from you because  _ you _ feel guilty. If you don’t want this with me, then… don’t do it.” 

“What are you saying?” I ask. “Are you saying you want to break up with me?” 

He throws his head back. “No!” he says. “That’s the last thing I want. Jesus, April, I love you. You don’t even know how much I love you. But if my loving you is - is hurting your relationship with God, with your parents, then I’m not gonna be that guy.”

“Because you’re an Avery, right?” 

He clenches his jaw. “No, that’s not it. I’m not that guy because I put you first. And if you’re not happy, then you shouldn’t be with me.”

We’re silent for a long time, testing each other. Wondering who’s going to speak first. 

“I don’t want that,” I say. “I just… I just want to stop feeling like this.” 

“You don’t have to listen to everything your mom says, you know,” he tells me. 

My eyes flash. “I don’t want to talk about that,” I say. 

He makes an exasperated sound. “So what’s the problem here, April? Are you mad at me because of something your mom said, or because I was tired of seeing you get bullied around and I finally did something about it?” 

I sputter for words. I feel like I’m being cornered. “Just because you took my virginity doesn’t mean you own me,” I say, my voice rising in pitch. 

He pulls his head back and looks at me with shock and pain written across his face. “Wait, what?” he says. “ _ Took _ ? Did you… do you really think I’m like that? That I think like that?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Aren’t all boys like that?” 

He opens his mouth and blood pours out of his lip, gushing over his chin and down his neck. 

“Don’t talk,” I say, and get the supplies to use in patching it up. I work close to his face and he stays shifted away from me, and he won’t look at me either. Once it’s patched up, I pull back and he continues to keep his eyes out the window. “Now you won’t even look at me?” I ask. 

“I don’t get where all this is coming from all of a sudden,” he says. “This doesn’t seem like you. After we did it, you were happy.  _ We _ were happy. God, that was the happiest I’ve ever been, April. I loved being with you, discovering new parts of you, knowing that I was the one you picked to trust enough to do that. To be that for you.” He shakes his head. “I thought you knew how special that was to me. So the fact that you’re throwing around shit like… shit like saying that I took your virginity from you and am some chauvinistic freak, well… that really fuckin’ hurts.” He meets my eyes, and I wish he hadn’t. There’s such deep sorrow in them that I can’t bear to look for long. “I don’t know what’s going on with you,” he says. “But taking it out on me isn’t fair. And I think you know that.” 

My crying starts out slow, but as I keep my eyes on his it becomes more and more. “I’m sorry,” I sob, then cover my face with my hands. “I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t mean that.” I watch him through my blurry vision and see that he still looks jaded and conflicted, unsure of whether to trust what I’m saying. “My mom wants me to stay home next year,” I tell him. “Not live on-campus. She wants to keep me longer so I won’t stray again.” I wipe my eyes roughly with the heels of my palms. “And as she was talking to me about that, all I could think about was how I never stopped straying, and I’m lying to her every second of every day. And I don’t want to stop. That’s the problem; I don’t want to stop,” I say. “And even if I did, I don’t think I could.” I lean forward with my hands on his knees. “I love you, Jackson. And it’s not a small kind of love, either. This is huge love to me. This is I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re not around kind of love, you make me feel like the best version of myself kind of love, you make me think all sorts of stupid stuff like...like maybe someday you’re the man who I’ll marry and have kids with kind of love.” I close my eyes and my body racks with sobs, and I hear the tiny sound of my tears falling to hit his jeans. 

There’s a moment where I cry and he stays rigid, but it doesn’t last. Soon, he takes me up in his arms and holds me tight with my face pressed against his neck. He rocks us back and forth while making soothing sounds and rubbing my arm, kissing my forehead as best he can with his puffy lip.

“You feel like you have to choose,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest right under my ear. I nod, and he does too. My breath hitches in my throat as I try to catch it, but I just start to cry again. “You don’t have to keep this kind of stuff from me, baby,” he says. 

I cling to him and try to speak, but the words don’t work. I’m crying too hard. All of this has been pent up inside me for more than 24 hours; I haven’t cried since my mom told me what she wanted even though I hadn’t been purposefully holding it in. 

“I don’t want to give you up,” I finally say. “But they’re my family.”

He nods slowly. “I know it’s hard for me to understand, you know, the stuff they say to you,” he says. “But I get that they’re your blood. They’re what you know. And I’ll do my best to wrap my head around that.” He kisses my hairline. “And because of that, it’s not fair the positions they put you in. You should be allowed to grow up, you know - make mistakes, be young. You shouldn’t have to carry the weight of this choice when you should be having the best time of your life right now.” 

I wipe my eyes and sit quietly for a while, just listening to his heart thrum under my cheek. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asks. 

I wipe the snot from under my nose with my wrist. “I didn’t think you’d understand,” I say. “I was gonna try to do it on my own. Figure it out by myself.” 

He trails his fingertips up my arms, which makes goosebumps rise up. “If I didn’t understand, I would talk to you until I did,” he assures me. “Because you matter. The way you think, your opinion, your problems… all of that means something to me. Because you’re my girlfriend, because you’re a  _ human _ with feelings.” 

I sniffle and lean my head heavier against him, and he sways back and forth. “I’m sorry for fighting,” he says. “Fighting Alex. I didn’t realize it wasn’t what you’d want, and… I’m sorry.” 

I run my hand down his chest. “I’m sorry for saying what I said,” I murmur. “About taking my virginity. I didn’t mean it.” 

I hear a soft chuckle come from him. “I’m not like other guys, like you said,” he laughs. 

I sit up so I can look at his face. “I know,” I say. “I always knew that. I don’t know why I said that.” 

He tucks a little bit of hair behind my ear. “It’s okay,” he says. 

I glance at the clock. It’s barely 1:30, and I’m not expected home until 4. “Since you’re not like other boys...” I say. “Would you want to, I don’t know, maybe show me?” My face flushes as I wonder if now’s the right time to be asking. We’ve barely come down from our high emotional state, but I can’t deny that I want him. It feels like forever since I’ve had him, even though it’s only been a handful of days at most. 

“Show you?” he asks, and before I can even nod he’s stripped off his shirt. 

I can see the bruise blossoming on his chest, and I reach my hand out to trace the outlines of it. “He hurt you,” I say, stating the obvious.

“I’ll be fine,” Jackson says, scanning my body with his eyes. “You want to do this… right?” 

“Yes,” I say surely, and start unbuttoning my blouse. Now that the weather has warmed up again for May, I’m back to wearing my knee-high socks and Jackson is loving it. But right now, he’s working on pulling them off of me, one by one. 

He takes them off slowly, making suggestive eye contact with me as he does so. When both of the socks are off, he runs his fingernails up my legs and leaves long, angry, red streaks behind as he situates his head to be level with my waist. 

Now my skirt is the only remaining article of clothing on me, being that he slid my underwear off from underneath it. I kept my bra on, too, and he reaches up and runs one of his hands over the cups. “New one,” he says. “I like it.” 

It’s a hand-me-down from Libby that I found, never worn with the tag still on. It’s light blue with white polka dots and it fits me just perfectly. Plus, it’s way more fun than the neutral-colored ones Mom always buys. 

He doesn’t bother with taking my skirt off like I thought he would. What he does is slink beneath it so its fabric covers his head and I can’t see what he’s doing. Because I can’t see, when presses his open mouth to my core, I feel like I could practically suffocate him with my thighs on either sides of his head. 

“Oh, oh, Jackson,” I moan, and flip up my skirt so I can run my fingers through his curls. 

“Mm-mm,” he mutters, shaking his head and flipping the skirt back over. He moves his lips and tongue to work me like only he knows how, and I feel like I’m going to come only a few minutes after he’s begun. My knees shake and my breath isn’t coming as easy, which are my two clues that an orgasm is close. He knows it too, so he grips my outer thighs tighter and sucks on me harder, which makes everything happen. He doesn’t move away when I come, though, he pushes me further and further with the ministrations of his mouth. 

And I can’t take it anymore, everything is on overload. “Stop, stop, stop,” I whimper, but I don’t really mean it. This is the best thing I’ve ever felt. His breath is hot against me and his eyes are on fire when he looks up, confused at what I’ve said. “Keep going,” I breathe. “I mean keep going.” 

He makes me come twice in a row in under ten minutes, and by the time I’ve come down from the second orgasm, I’m winded. He pulls my skirt down and takes a moment to unbuckle his belt and shuck off his jeans before overlapping my body with his own on the couch and grazing the material of my bra with his teeth. 

“I can feel your nipples through this,” he says, then closes his mouth to flatten his tongue over them. When he lifts his face away, I can see the damp patch that he’s left. 

“Not my fault,” I say. 

“It’s a good thing,” he murmurs, taking it off so he can attach his mouth directly to my skin. He sucks on my breast and closes his eyes, and I forget that he has injuries on his face until he pulls away from my chest and leaves bloodstains behind. 

“You’re bleeding,” I say, and lean over to pick up the gauze to dab at his lip. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “It’s worth it. Hold on, I’m gonna go get a condom.” He peels his body off of mine and walks to his bedroom, where I can hear him rustling around. “I just wanna be ready,” he says, then lies on his back on the couch. “C’mere,” he says, motioning to sit between his legs and rest back against his chest. 

I take him up on the suggestion and turn my head once I get situated, and he opens his mouth against mine to push his tongue between my lips. With his mouth still on mine, he slides his hands down over my shoulders to grip my breasts, which he massages while kissing me senseless, running his fingernails over my nipples to make them stand on end. Just as I think I could be getting used to the sensory overload, he takes one of his hands from my chest and slips it between my legs, where he rubs my center and pushes two fingers inside me. 

I make a high-pitched, desperate sound that disappears into his mouth as he moves both of his hands. I lose my breath and rest my head back against his shoulder, then he flips us around so he’s on top of me, and sheds his boxers to put the condom on. He raises his eyebrows and I give him a little nod, lowering one leg to rest my foot on the floor with the other knee bent against the back of the couch. 

Jackson thrusts inside and kisses me, taking my breasts in his hands yet again. I moan and push my tongue into his mouth, then cover his hands on my chest with my own and squeeze his fingers tight. I come first while he’s inside me, and I throw my head back and gasp as it happens. He doesn’t take much longer, and I dig my fingernails into his sides as he bucks and lets out a low moan right next to my ear. 

I’m out of breath when it’s over. I reach for my underwear, pull them back on and gravitate to his warmth even though this couch is still much too small. 

“I hope that was a good enough apology,” he murmurs, winding one arm around me. 

I laugh a little bit and arch my back towards him; now our stomachs are pressed right up against each other and I can feel him breathing. “Of course,” I say. “I hope mine was, too.” 

“As always,” he says, and kisses me. 

“I’m just sad we didn’t have the sex jams playlist,” I say, trailing one finger down his chest - avoiding the bruise. My eyes flit up and I see that his lip is bleeding again, along with the gash on his forehead that’s showing through the bandage. “You’re bleeding bad, Jackson,” I tell him. 

“I’ll live, I promise,” he says. “And I couldn’t waste time by opening my computer and starting the playlist… I had to have you.” 

I laugh again and bury my face in his neck. If I could just stay right here and forget the rest of the world existed, that would be ideal. I make a promise to myself that I won’t push him away again - it doesn’t do either of us any good. 

\---

I’m in a good mood when I get home later that night. On the bus, I brushed my hair and made sure I looked presentable, like I’d look if I just got home from a full day of school. I’m smiling when I walk through the front door, but it dies from my face when I see Mom waiting for me almost immediately inside, and she doesn’t look happy.

“I heard from Kimmie that seniors had early dismissal today,” she says, her tone scarily calm. “What might you have been doing for those four hours?” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last official chapter - yes it's true. But there is still an epilogue coming soon!!!

I clear my throat. By the look on her face, I can see she’s genuinely curious. She doesn’t know anything yet. She might be assuming, but she doesn’t know anything for sure. I checked myself in the mirror before I left Jackson’s house to make sure I didn’t have any physical marks, and I didn’t. She can’t prove anything, even if she has suspicions. 

“I was studying,” I say. “For my AP tests.” 

I leave my answer short and sweet. My gut sits heavy, though, as I realize I’ve gotten much better at lying than I used to be. I hang my backpack up on a hook and kick my shoes off, wondering what Mom will say next. 

“Alone?” she asks. 

I nod silently. 

“Not even Lexie with you?” I shake my head no. “Well, that would make sense, because your father saw her at the grocery store about an hour ago with her friend, Mark.” She walks a little closer to me and I subconsciously shrink away. What if she can sense the sex on me? Smell it, or something? I don’t know. I have no idea how those things work.

“He’s her boyfriend,” I correct, and I don’t know why. For some reason, I just want her to know that it’s normal for girls my age to have boyfriends. She refuses to acknowledge that fact. 

“He shouldn’t be,” Mom says. “He’s much too old for her.”

“He’s only one year older,” I say. “That’s hardly anything, if you really-”

“It’s rude to interrupt,” she cuts in, eyes sharp as daggers. “Put your shoes back on. We’re going to church tonight.” 

“But it’s Monday,” I say, furrowing my eyebrows.

She looks at me with no expression on her face. “I know that,” she says. “I just feel like we, as a family, need to make a trip to confession. We haven’t been in so long. It’s healthy to get these things off your chest and out of your mind.” 

“Me?” I ask, turning my head a little bit in confusion. 

“I’m sure,” she says. “I’m sure you have things you’d like to tell Father Hadden. As we all do.” 

I slip my shoes back on and stare at the empty spot my mom left when she goes around the corner to grab my sisters and dad. Kimmie comes to the front door first to grab her shoes, and she gives me a malicious look. 

“Confession time,” she says quietly. 

“Yep,” I say, kneeling down to redo a buckle that’s come loose on my shoe. 

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about.” 

I snap my head in her direction and narrow my eyes, speaking quickly so no one else has the chance to show up. “What are you talking about?” I hiss.

She shrugs a little. “I’ll just say one word. Prom,” she says. 

I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I practically fall backwards onto my butt. “What are you talking about?” I ask again, instinctively. 

“I think you know,” she responds. 

I stand up straight and fix my uniform. Kimmie is still wearing hers, too.

“People talk, Duckie,” she says. “I heard people in the hallway talking about how you brought a date that no one knew. I heard all about it. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you brought Jackson.”

“Don’t say his name,” I say. She giggles. “What people, anyway?” I ask. “Who’s talking?” 

“I don’t know, just people,” she says. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Blood rushes to my face as a helpless feeling washes through me. She has me in the corner, right where she wants me. “Why don’t you just tell on me, then?” I ask. 

Alice comes around the corner with a smile on her face, and Mom and Dad follow close behind. “Everyone ready?” Dad asks.

I keep eye contact with Kimmie as everyone passes by us. “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I just like waiting to see what’ll happen.” 

\---

My stomach is jumping as I sit behind the screen in the confessional booth. I’ve been in this position countless other times before in my life, but I’ve never had anything of worth to say. When I was five, I begged Mom to take me here because I accidentally stepped on a ladybug while I was playing on the sidewalk and killed it. The fact that I killed something, even such a tiny creature, sent me into a whirlwind back then. Thou shalt not kill, that’s what I knew. And I thought my murdering of that innocent ladybug was a deed that would surely send me straight to hell. 

Funny that I felt more regret then than I do now. 

Father Hadden says a short, quiet prayer and then I speak. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been almost nine months since my last confession and I accuse myself of the following sins.” 

I might not feel regret, but I’m feeling an insane amount of anxiety. I’m wringing my hands on my lap and wiping the sweat from them onto my socks, and the sound that my shoe is making as it taps against the hard floor echoes throughout the booth. 

I debate lying, but that would counteract this entire process. I want to get all of this off my chest, I know it’ll make me feel better. But the fact that I’m telling it to someone else who’s not Lexie is terrifying for me. This has been mine and Jackson’s secret that I’ve held close and protected since October, and now I’m going to set it free. I don’t know how it’s going to feel once I do. 

“I’ve lied to my parents,” I say. “Actually, I’m still lying.” I don’t give him time to prompt me. Now that the floodgates are open, I can’t stop talking. “I’m seeing someone. A boy. And my parents don’t know. I used to tutor him and… and then we fell in love.” My whole body gets warm as I say those words out loud. “I love him so much, but lying to my parents is taking a toll on me. Because I’m not only lying about being with him, I’m also lying about the fact that I’m a virgin,” I say. “Me and Jackson have a sexual rel-... I’m sexually active.” I cut myself off, having not meant to say Jackson’s name. But it’s already out there in the open now. “And I… I know it’s wrong to have sex before marriage. But I’m in love with him, and I really think he might be the one that I actually do marry someday. So I tell myself that because of that, it’s not so bad. And lying to my parents... I don’t know what to do about that. I’ve been lying for so long that coming out with the truth now would… be bad.” We sit in silence for a while and I stare down at the shiny tips of my shoes. My leg has stopped bouncing, but my palms are still damp. “That’s all, I guess. For these sins and all those that I cannot remember, I humbly repent and ask for absolution, counsel and penance.” 

Father Hadden clears his throat. “April, thank you for coming to talk to me today,” he says. “Your sins have everything to do with the second deadly sin, lust.” 

Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I want to run out of here and never come back. 

“The fornication should stop,” he continues. “As of right now, that relationship should end. Sex is meant to be between a married couple, and you are much too young to delve into a relationship that involves it. Once you purify yourself again, you’ll have a clear conscience. It’ll take time, but you’ll be able to achieve it. And your parents should know the truth; lying to them every day is only adding up to create a giant lie that will consume you. You made the first step by coming here and telling your truth to me, which was a big step in itself. I’m proud of you for that. But everything that you’ve confessed to me must stop, or your feelings of guilt and longing will continue.”

I haven’t shifted my eyes away from their spot on the floor. I’m tracking a small piece of dust that’s moving around with the flow of the air conditioning. “Now please make an act of Contrition,” Father Hadden says. 

“Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell; but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.” I say it quietly and quickly. My words are soft and thin, and they pass through my lips without sticking to my conscience. 

“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Father says, and I stand up and leave after thanking him for his time and advice. 

The rest of my family goes in one at a time. Since I was first, I sit in a pew near the altar and say many silent prayers as everyone goes through with their own confessionals. There’s no way I can go through with what Father Hadden said. Coming to confession has only made everything harder; I can’t imagine what would happen to me if I just came out and told my parents the whole truth. My life would never be the same. Everything that I love would be taken from me, I might get sent to an actual convent, who knows. And I don’t want to find out. 

My mom goes last and takes the longest. When she’s done, she doesn’t speak; we all gather wordlessly and walk out of the church through the parking lot to head for the van. We pile in, and still no one speaks. I don’t know why, but a bad feeling makes itself known in my stomach and suddenly I feel sick. Something is very wrong. 

We get home and the minute we walk in the door, Mom speaks. “Kimmie, Alice, upstairs,” she orders, her voice scary and low. They don’t question her. They know what that tone of voice means. The one who’s been singled out is the one who’s about to get the verbal lashing of her life. 

And that’s me. 

My fingertips go cold and numb as I stand in the middle of the dining room, frozen. My posture is completely rigid; my feet are hip-width apart, still with my shoes on, and my shoulders are set straight with my chin lifted. Nothing about my body language is casual. I’m stiff as a board. 

“April, sit down,” Mom says, pouring herself a glass of water. Dad comes in from the mudroom after taking off his shoes, and his face is stark white. I’ve never seen him wear this expression before. 

“What is it?” I ask, the anticipating killing me. I feel like I’m going to throw up. 

“Sit down, please,” Mom insists, and I obey. I pull out a chair across from the both of them and sit with my palms on my knees, rubbing them compulsively. I chew on the inside of my cheek, wearing the same spot raw, until the skin is ragged and bloody. 

“What is it?” I ask again, trying to make my voice sound normal. I don’t think it works. 

“Do you have something you’d like to tell us?” Dad asks, leaning forward on his elbows. 

A flush blooms on my face and I start to sweat. My mouth gapes open like a fish caught on land, and I sputter for words, but none come. I don’t even know where to begin. How is this happening? How much do they know and how do they know it? 

“Father Hadden spoke to me during my confessional,” Mom says. “He thought there were some things I needed to know that you weren’t telling me. That you didn’t plan on telling me.” I open my mouth, but she snaps her hand up. “Do not speak,” she orders. 

I fight the urge to avoid her eyes. I keep eye contact, my chin jutted out and my eyebrows crinkled in opposition. 

“April, you’ve been lying to us for months,” Dad says, taking the floor. “Your mother gave you a specific order to stop seeing that boy and you deliberately disobeyed her. I know you’re aware that that’s a sin.” 

My head trembles and it turns into a slight nod.

“I told you to stop seeing that boy, and you go behind our backs and not only continue to see him, but you give your virginity away to him,” Mom says. “April, how could you? How could you devalue yourself so much to disrespect both your parents and God in such a way?” I open my mouth again, but the looks she gives makes me close it. “I said, do not speak.” 

I don’t listen to her this time. “Father Hadden told you that?” I ask. “He can’t do that. He can’t… that’s supposed to be private."

“When it comes to my child’s safety, he’s allowed to tell me anything,” Mom says. “I am so disappointed in you, April. I never expected this from you. Ever.” She looks my body up and down, at least as much as she can see of it. “You let him taint you. You degraded your holy temple of a body, something that was supposed to be saved for your husband in the future, down to something that this boy won’t even remember in a few months.” 

The wind gets knocked out of me. I want to speak, I want to refute her, but I don’t know what I can say. 

“I thought better of you,” she says. “You’ve never shown me anything that would make me think so low of you. You were so holy, April. I thought you would at least pick someone who was your equal.” 

I lose my breath. I picture Jackson’s face as he’s working on organic chemistry - which he loves. His tongue sticking out just slightly between his lips, his eyebrows crinkled as he enjoys the challenge presented to him, the brightening of his eyes once he gets through a problem. I picture him smiling underneath me on my bed, shirtless with my fingers spread out over his bare chest, the beauty of our skin tones contrasting against one another. Everything about him is more than I could ever be. 

“My equal?” I repeat. “Did you really just say that?”

“He doesn’t share your same values, you two are-”

“You have no idea what his values are!” I say, slamming my palms down flat on the table. The water glasses shake and the liquid inside wobbles with the impact. “Jackson is my equal. You know what? I know what this is about,” I say. “Would you care about any of this if he were white?” 

It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to think this in such simple terms, let alone say it out loud. My chest is heaving and my teeth are practically bared; I feel like a wild animal. 

“April Kepner, you will not talk to your mother in that tone of voice,” Dad growls. “Sit down now.” 

I realize that I’d pushed my chair back to stand higher than them, so I pull it back and replace myself in it. 

“His ethnicity has nothing to do with this,” Mom continues, her voice still eerily calm. “And frankly, I’m offended that you would assume that such a thing would even cross my mind.” 

“I know it crosses your mind,” I say. “I saw the way you looked at him on Valentine’s Day. I still remember what you said. You asked me why I would degrade myself so much to be with  _ someone like him _ .” I shake my head and I can see my hair swish in my peripherals. “Someone like him. I know what that means. You’re a racist,” I say, pointing a finger in her direction. “You’re a racist, and you know it. Is it Christlike to judge other people based on their appearance? Did God create him to be a lesser person? Is that what you think?”  

“That’s enough out of you,” my dad bellows. “Sit your ass down!” 

I don’t sit down. I stay standing, hands braced on the table. My dad’s face is crimson, but my mom stays calm. She shifts her eyes up higher so meet mine as I stand, and her mouth remains in its straight line. 

“The thing is, April,” Mom says, changing the subject. “You don’t regret a thing you did. Father Hadden agreed with me, too. He said you were just going through the motions, saying what you needed to say to get out of that booth. We were both surprised that you told him the truth at all.” 

“You planned this?” I ask, my voice rising to a shriek. “The both of you? The three of you?” 

“Nothing was planned,” Mom says. “We went to confession and you told the truth for the first time in months. Father Hadden was looking out for your safety, and thought it would be best to notify me. You’ve been different, April, and I couldn’t put my finger on the reason. But now I know why.” She intertwines her fingers together in front of her. “You’re impure. It’ll take so much to come back from that, and I don’t know if you’re ready for what it entails. You’ve done nothing to show that you possess that much dedication to yourself or to your God anymore.” 

I laugh; the kind of laugh where nothing is funny. “You’re right,” I say. “For the very first time. I’m not ready to come back from that. I’m not giving him up.” Mom’s eyes grow big as she raises her eyebrows. “No, I won’t do it,” I solidify. “You don’t know how hard it’s been these past few months to lie to you. I hated it. I hated every second of it, and there were times where I wanted to give him up just to make you happy. But he’s the only one who’s helped me this year. The only one who’s seen me through my darkest times and pulled me up out of them.” My throat clogs as I realize how true my words are. “Where were you guys when I needed you? You couldn’t help me, because you don’t see me. You won’t see me; you refuse to let me grow up. I’m not always going to be your redheaded little baby girl who does everything perfect all the time! That’s not  _ me _ anymore!” 

My voice shakes, but I power through. I haven’t finished saying my piece yet.

“I had the most horrible year,” I say. “I was bullied almost every day. I needed help. But you were too busy seeing me as this perfect child who could do nothing wrong than to ever ask me how I was really doing,” I spit. “I felt like I had no room to tell you the truth because of the way you’ve always seen me. I can’t hold up that perfect image anymore. I can’t do… I can’t do it anymore, and I won’t."

I start to cry soundlessly, the tears just streaming down my cheeks as I sniffle and wait for my parents to speak.

“I feel like I don’t know who you are anymore,” Mom says. 

“Where did we go wrong?” Dad chimes in. “Do you think your sisters would ever speak to us this way - any one of them?” He shakes his head. “They wouldn’t. We must have gone wrong somewhere with you.” 

“You didn’t go wrong,” I sob. “I’m growing up.”

Mom scoffs. “You’re hardly a grown-up,” she says. 

“I’m 18,” I say defiantly, wiping my tears. “I’m legally an adult. And I don’t have to listen to a single word you say. And while we’re on the subject, I’m not living at home next year. I won’t do it. I won’t be under this roof for another year just so you can suffocate me more.” 

Mom stands up and her chair makes a harsh groaning noise as she pushes it back forcefully. “Is that what you think of this house?” she asks. “I’ve spent 18 years feeding you, clothing you, and putting a roof over your head… and this is how you thank me?” Her eyes are burning with rage, but I can match her. 

“You spent all those years forming me into who you wanted me to be!” I screech, unaware that my voice would come out sounding like that. “You wanted a mini-me, and that’s what you got. But I’m not going to be that for you anymore. You can’t make me.” 

“I can’t make you?” she asks. “That’s right, isn’t it. Instead of living in God’s light and turning into an upstanding young woman, you decided to follow your bodily urges and have underage sex with-” 

“I was not underage,” I cut in. “So don’t say that.” 

“When did it happen, then?” Dad asks, looking more wounded than anything. 

“I don’t have to tell you that,” I say, clamping my mouth shut. I won’t taint that perfect memory by handing it off to them. That’s mine and Jackson’s to keep between the two of us. “But I was 18. That’s all I’ll say. And you know what?” I lean forward on the table and feel the heat radiating off of my face. “I loved it. I loved having sex with Jackson, and we-” 

“Shut up,” Mom barks. “Stop it right now, young lady. You will not speak like that to us or anyone. I don’t care how old you were, how old you are, I don’t care. You had sex. Premarital sex, and that’s enough. Do you know how it feels to raise a child...and know you won’t see her in heaven?”  

I pull my head back and cross my arms over my chest. My insides feel like they’re sinking; instead of anger, now I feel a debilitating sadness wash over me. 

Nothing will be the same now. 

They don’t understand me, and they never will. And I’m not even sure if I want them to. 

“I hate this house,” I say maliciously. 

“If you hate it so much, then why don’t you leave?” Mom hisses, walking in my direction. But before she can reach me, I turn around and stomp up to my bedroom, slamming my door as hard as I can behind me. 

I shove my body between the foot of my bed and my radiator and dial Jackson’s number. I don’t know where it’s coming from exactly, but the rage I feel is partly directed at him, too. None of this would’ve happened had I not met him and fallen in love. All the good stuff wouldn’t have happened either, sure, but I would’ve been able to save myself so much heartbreak if I could’ve met him later or… not at all.

When he answers, I don’t even bother with saying hello. I just start crying - actually, sobbing is more like it. I can’t control the sounds coming out of my mouth and I can barely catch my breath. 

“April, April, what’s going on?” he asks, his voice urgent and scared. 

“Everything!” I shriek, pounding my back against the footboard of my bed. “Everything is wrong and my life is ruined.” I plunk my forehead down on my knees and feel my body involuntarily shake with hysteria. “If I weren’t good at English, none of this would have ever happened.” 

“Wait, what?” he asks, sounding confused. “April, what are you talking about? What the hell is going on?” 

I grit my teeth and let out gusts of air through them as tears pour down my cheeks. “If I was bad at English, I wouldn’t have been asked to tutor anybody. And if I hadn’t been asked to tutor anybody, I wouldn’t have met you. And if I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t have been able to fall in love and have sex with you. You can’t have sex with people you don’t meet. And then my parents would still think highly of me and not hate me and I wouldn’t be disowned and my entire life wouldn’t be-” 

“What happened?” he demands. 

“You happened!” I scream, though I hadn’t meant to. “You happened to me, and this is what I am now. I don’t know who I am. And I don’t know what to do.” I wrap my arms around my knees and hide my face between them as I sob. “I gotta go,” I say, and hang up the phone. 

\---

If there was any way that I could skip school the next day, I would do it. But of course, I couldn’t, so I had to go through the day in a fog without talking to even Lexie. I kept my head down, pretended to do my work, and then took the bus home like usual. 

When I walk up to our house, I can see something on the porch that looks out of place. 

“What is that?” Alice asks as we get closer, and when I walk up the seven steps leading to our house, I realize what it is. It’s all my stuff, packed into bags.

“Oh, my gosh,” Kimmie says, and her tone isn’t snide or malicious. She’s legitimately shocked. “Are these all of your things, April?” 

I drop to my knees and unzip one of the bags to see my church dresses shoved inside without any care or concern. Under those are variations of my school uniform, and in the bag next to it are the few home clothes that I own along with my shoes. There are three bags, and the third one is everything miscellaneous that I own. Toiletries, mostly. 

The front door opens as I’m still kneeling next to the bags and Mom appears, staring down at me with eyes that look more black than hazel. “Mom?” I peep, my voice sounding younger than it has in a long time. 

“Girls, inside,” Mom directs, not looking at me. 

They don’t move, too shocked by what’s happening. 

“Girls,  _ inside _ ,” she growls, and only Kimmie moves. My middle sister doesn’t even look back at me as she retreats and obeys the orders given. Alice takes a staggered step towards the door, but doubts herself. “Alice, you’re grounded for a week,” Mom says. “And every second you stay out here is another one. Get inside now.” 

Alice doesn’t linger any longer. As she steps inside, she gives me one last look over her shoulder that’s a mixture of worry and sorrow. I have nothing to comfort her with, and for some reason I’m the one who’s feeling sorry for her. 

When the door shuts, I wipe the tears off of my cheeks and stay where I’m kneeling. “Mom?” I say again. 

“You no longer get to call me mom,” she says, her voice flat and monotone. “You no longer get to live in this house or be a part of this family. You made it clear to us that you were an adult, so you’re going to live like one. However you want.” She clears her throat. “You made your choice clear. You’re going against us, against God, and I won’t have that under my roof. This is your consequence, April. Enjoy it.” 

I’m sobbing now, with snot bubbling from my nose and drool coming out of the sides of my mouth. I don’t make any moves to wipe my face, I know it’ll just keep coming. “Mama, why are you doing this?” 

There’s still no emotion on her face. I don’t recognize her; I want to know if she’s suddenly turned into this or if it really was a monster who raised me. 

“Goodbye, April,” she says, then walks inside and closes the door behind her. 

My breath comes shallowly. I dig through the things she’s packed and notice that my phone, iPod, and necklace aren’t included. I gather my courage and burst through the door, stomping through the house without taking my shoes off, headed in the directions of my parents’ room. 

“Didn’t I tell you to get out of here?!” Mom bellows, storming out of the kitchen while still wielding a spatula. “You’re not welcome here anymore, April. Get out!” 

I don’t respond to her. I hear her footsteps following me, but I don’t slow down. I shove open the door to the master bedroom and look around frantically, and after I don’t see my things out in the open, I start digging through drawers. 

“Get out of this house,” Mom demands. “Right now!” 

She doesn’t touch me. In fact, she doesn’t even come near me to try and get me to leave. I yank open her desk drawer and luckily find my things right there, the three of them in a row, waiting for me. I gather them in one hand and flip around to show her. “These are mine,” I growl. “I’m taking what’s mine.” 

I push past her and feel my sisters’ eyes on me as I walk through the entryway, but I keep my focus on the door. Once I reach it, I throw it open and put my reclaimed possessions into the front pocket of the backpack that sits on the front porch. I throw it onto my back, toss the duffel bag over my shoulder, and hold the strap of the third bag between my fists and walk with it in front of me. 

I walk in the direction opposite of my house, not heading towards anything specific. I don’t know where to go. I have no home. 

I sit down on the bench at the bus stop and stare down at the pavement. There’s so much going on inside my head that it’s seemed to have shut off and put me on autopilot, and I get on the bus without so much as a second thought. I’ve taken this route a thousand times before; it goes east - towards Lincoln Park.

Without thinking consciously about it, I snap out of my zone a while later and am standing at the front of Jackson’s apartment. My hands and shoulders are sore from holding my belongings for such a long time, and my cheeks are chapped from all the crying I’ve done. I ring the bell that corresponds with his unit, and wait the usual couple minutes that it takes for him to get downstairs. 

I see him before he sees me, as I’m watching through the glass door. He has his eyes on the floor, staring at his socks, as he scratches the back of his head. When he looks up and sees that it’s me who rang the doorbell, he crinkles his eyebrows with confusion as he opens the door. 

“April?” he says. “What are you doing here?” 

I take in a breath to explain myself, and it rattles in my chest as I inhale. We make meaningful eye contact and I drop my bags to throw myself into his arms, and he holds me tight as I sob against his chest. Somehow, even after last night and earlier today, I still have more tears to shed. 

“I got you,” he says softly, stroking the back of my head. “I got you. It’s okay.” 

We eventually make it upstairs, and I still haven’t spoken because I know once I start to explain everything, I’ll start crying and I won’t be able to stop. I set all of my bags down by the couch and stand in the middle of the living room, staring aimlessly without any thoughts at all running through my head. I’m blank, I’m numb, and I don’t know what to do with myself. 

“Are you hungry?” Jackson asks. “I can make dinner, order a pizza, something?” I shake my head with my eyes still glazed over, staring. “Toast? Cereal?” I shake my head again. He sighs through his nose and sits down on the couch. “You’re freaking me out by just standing there,” he says. “I don’t wanna make you do anything, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but will you at least sit?” 

I turn my head to look at him, my lips parted just slightly. “Can I shower?” I ask, my voice coming out a strangled croak. 

“Sure,” he says. “Let me go turn it on for you.” 

He gets the water at a good temperature and shuts the door behind him as he leaves the bathroom. While watching myself in the mirror, I strip off my clothes piece by piece and fold them into neat squares on the counter by the sink. I painstakingly undo each button of my white blouse and slip it off of my arms, unzip the side of my skirt and fold it in half to set on top of the shirt, pull off my socks and fold them together on top of the skirt, and then top the pile off with my bra and underwear. I test the water with one hand and step inside, standing under the powerful jet and letting my eyes wander the royal blue tiles that checker the walls while watching the droplets of water slide down them. 

After a few minutes, I sink down to the floor of the shower and pull my legs up so I can rest my cheek on my knees. The water pounds onto my back and the top of my head, dripping down my already-soaked hair that lies flat on my shoulders, and when I blink I can see the water clinging to my eyelashes before slipping off and being replaced. I open my mouth and the water droplets find their way to my lips, creating a steady stream that runs down past my chest to fall into a puddle that’s collecting around my groin. 

I don’t know how much time passes where I stare at a tiny river flowing down the drain next to me, but when I look up, the window on the shower wall has turned black with the night. I cover my face with my palms and roughly rub them up my skin, finger-combing my raggedy hair away from my face as I go. I adjust the way I’m sitting so the water jet hits my face, and I squint my eyes and pinch my mouth shut as I look up towards it. Even though it’s hot and pressurized, I force myself to stay with my face upturned. 

My skin grows pruny and I fall asleep without meaning to; my back against the far wall with the only parts of my body that the water is touching being my knees and shins. The bathroom is beyond foggy when the door opens some time later, and I open my eyes when the glass door to the shower gets pulled open by a very worried-looking Jackson. 

“What are you doing,” he mutters to himself, and wastes no time in scooping me up and getting me out. My body is soaking wet against his dry clothes, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He leaves the shower on and gets me out of the bathroom, handing me a towel once we’re in his bedroom. I sit with it on my lap, not doing anything with it. I feel frozen, like I’m not in my own body; incapable of doing anything for myself. 

“You’re not gonna… okay,” he says under his breath, and pats me down with the fluffy yellow towel. He runs it over my hair, then says, “I don’t know how to do the turban thing, so…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. “Did you bring pajamas?” A short pause. “You’re not gonna answer me. I don’t know where they are… cool. So you’re going to put on some of mine, okay?” He turns around and digs through his top drawer, and sets a pair of drawstring pants and a t-shirt on the bed next to me. “Not gonna put them on…” he mutters. “Okay.” He picks the t-shirt up and slips it over my head, flipping my hair out of the collar once it’s on, then helps my arms into it. To get me into the pants, he kneels on the floor and gets my feet into their respective holes like a parent helping their sleepy child get dressed in the morning. 

“Let’s get you brushed out,” he says, disappearing from the room only to come back with my hairbrush in tow. “I know you like to brush your hair before bed. No way you’re going to bed with it all tangly like that.” He swivels my shoulders and sits behind me, running the brush through my snarly hair. It hurts when he pulls my head back through the knots, but I don’t react. I barely feel it.

Once my hair is taken care of, he smooths his hands over it and I lie down on one side of his bed and stare ahead at his closet. He takes care of the towel that he brought me and comes back into his bedroom to change into pajamas himself so he can crawl into his bed next to me. 

He doesn’t touch me, though. I’m not sure if I want him to or not, or if I would even be able to feel anything from it. I hear him fall asleep soon after he lays down, but I stay awake for most of the night, staring at the same spot. I can never go back home again. My family disowned me because I dared to fall in love and have something of my own. Everything I once knew is no longer there for me to fall back on, and I feel like I’ve been gutted. My past has been erased. I don’t even know where to begin in creating the new me. 

In the morning, I’m on my back staring at the ceiling when Jackson wakes up. He takes in a deep breath then turns his face to smush into the pillow as he yawns. 

I don’t look over at him, but I can feel his eyes on me as he tries to figure out what’s going on. He glances at the clock and I already know what time it is; just past 9am. 

“Shit,” he says. “You’re gonna be late for school.” He sits up on his side and lets his feet drop to hit the floor. I don’t move. “April,” he says, sounding questioning. “Are you going to school today?” 

I blink and shake my head. “No,” I say simply. 

He lays back down, facing me while supporting himself with one elbow. “Okay, you need to tell me what’s going on,” he says after a significant silence. 

I fold my hands over my ribcage and take a deep breath in. “I got home from school yesterday and all my stuff was packed up,” I say. “My mom told me to get out.” 

“What?” he asks, bewildered. “Where did this come from? How…? What?”

“She made us go to confession two nights ago,” I say quietly. “I told everything to Father Hadden. It was supposed to stay between me and him, but he told my mom. And she… we got into a huge fight. I said some really horrible things to her.” 

“I’m sure she said some nasty things, too,” he says.

“I really meant mine,” I say, bristling all over again as I remember her words and the way she talked about the boy lying next to me. “I shouldn’t have called you after,” I admit. “I was upset, I didn’t mean those things I said.” I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t… I really don’t regret anything I feel for you,” I say. “I’m sorry. I just… I was lashing out. It was wrong of me.” 

“I’d understand if you blamed me for all this,” he says. 

“You don’t have to be like that,” I say. 

“Like what?” 

“All understanding and stuff,” I say. “I was really mean to you. You can be mad at me, you… you can kick me out, too. I said bad things to you.” 

“April,” he says. “I’m not gonna kick you out. You were upset, you took it out on me. It’s gonna happen. I’ll probably do it to you, too, even when I don’t mean to. We always hurt the people closest to us. And I’m gonna be here for you no matter what.” 

His words sit with me like honey. The first sweet emotion I’ve felt in a couple days. 

“I can’t go back home again,” I say after a while. “Ever.” 

He extends one arm and rests it over my belly, his hand rising and falling with each of my breaths. “You are home,” he says. 

I widen my eyes and turn my head to look at him. “Are you asking me to move in?” I say.

He shrugs one shoulder. “Why not? You need a place to stay and I have plenty of room. You’re going to DePaul next year, too, and I live close to campus. We love each other. I don’t really see a better option, do you?”

I turn fully on my side and run my fingers down his cheek, watching him in amazement. “Are you sure about this?” I ask. 

“I want this,” he says. “Do you?” 

I nod and try to ignore the scared, jumpy feeling in my stomach. “Yeah,” I say.

“Then welcome home,” he says, and wraps his arm around my back to pull me close. 

\---

We spend the weekend holed up in Jackson’s apartment, and I mask my emotional turmoil by having lots and lots of sex. I think he could tell that something was up with me, but every time he asked I just kept deflecting, so eventually he just stopped asking. 

On Monday morning, I wake up to the sound of him puttering around in his bedroom. I scrunch up my face and can see the sunlight shining bright behind my eyelids, so I turn over and pull the thick duvet to cover both my naked shoulders and my head. 

“Nope, rise and shine, baby girl,” Jackson says, and I hear his footsteps walk right up next to the bed before he pulls the cover off of me. 

I cover my face with my arms and groan, “Stop…” 

“Gotta get up. It’s 7:15, which means it’s time to get ready for school,” he says, sounding cheery. 

“I’m not going to school,” I slur, my eyes still closed. 

“Not an option,” he says. “You didn’t go Thursday and Friday last week, so there’s absolutely no way you’re skipping again. Plus, anyway, you can’t. I know that AP test that you’ve been studying for forever is today.” 

“I’m not going,” I say, and turn over on my side again to face away from him. 

“You’re not getting away with this shit,” he says, sitting down and flipping me back by my shoulders. “Look at me.” I blink open my eyes to slits and rub the crust out of them, squinting against the brash light. 

“What?” 

“You are going to school,” he says. “And I don’t wanna hear any objections. You don’t have a choice in the matter.” 

I furrow my eyebrows and frown at him. “You’re not my mom, last time I checked.” I chuckle to myself. “I don’t have one of those anymore. And either way… don’t you wanna stay home with me and keep doing what we’ve been doing all weekend?” 

I reach my arms up towards him, but he shakes his head and stands up. “I know what you’re doing,” he says, opening the closet and taking out the pieces of my uniform that we hung up yesterday. He throws them at me, one by one. “You’re not slick, and I’m not an idiot. I love sleeping with you, Apricot, you know that. But we can’t just fuck all day and ignore our responsibilities.” 

“Since when?” I ask. 

He scoffs. “Like I said, I know what you’re doing,” he says. “You can’t just ignore your problems and try and… I don’t know, fuck them out of your head.”

“That’s not what I’m do-” 

“Yes, it is, and you know it,” he says. “Now get up and get dressed. We’re going to school.” 

I let out an angry sigh and vehemently push the rest of the covers back. I’m completely naked save for my turquoise underwear and a pair of yellow ankle socks, ankle socks that Jackson hates when I wear to bed. “I don’t wanna do this,” I say. “I can’t go back there.” 

“You can,” he says. “Get in the shower, get dressed, and we’ll go."

I get up out of bed and scratch my hair, watching him as he pulls on a wrinkled pair of dark blue jeans. “Are those even clean?” I ask. 

“Are  _ you _ even clean?” he asks. “You’re scratching yourself. And you smell.” 

“I do not smell,” I say, lifting one arm to sniff my armpit. “Stale deodorant. That’s basically it.” 

“Keyword: basically,” he says. “You could cook fries with the grease on your hair.” 

“Hey!” I say, and smack him. “Fine. I’ll get in the shower.” I walk towards the bathroom and then turn around to lean on the doorway. “Wanna come with?” 

He turns around as he buckles his belt, still shirtless. “Since when did you become me?” he asks. “Sex-crazed fiend. I already took a shower. I’m fresh and clean, not crusty and sticky like you.” 

“I’m not crusty,” I grumble. 

“Stop stalling,” he says, walking behind me and smacking me on the butt. “You’re going to school. I know how much you hate being late, so you better get moving.” 

“You know what I hate more than being late?” I ask, peeking my head out of the bathroom door after I turn the shower on. “Going at all.”

“You have one more week,” he says. “AP tests. You can do those in your sleep. I’m the one we should be worried about, I have a big final today that I haven’t studied for.” 

He puts toothpaste on his toothbrush and starts to brush his teeth as I step into the shower. My voice reverberates off the glass walls, making me sound a lot louder than I actually am as I continue our conversation. “You didn’t study?” I ask, voice squeaking at the end. “What subject is it?” 

He raises his eyebrows, scrubbing his back molars as he turns to look at me through the foggy glass pane. “Micro,” he says. 

“And you didn’t study,” I sigh, tipping my head back to get the rest of my hair wet. “Why?” 

“Well, you came with everything that happened, and-” 

“Don’t blame it on me,” I snap. “You had plenty of time b-” 

“Between the times you were fucking me senseless?” he asks, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. 

“Jackson,” I scold, squirting shampoo into my open palm.

“What?” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“But am I lying though?” I have no response. “That’s what I thought. So what, I didn’t study. I can skim by on skill alone.” 

I make an unsure sound and look at him as I lather up my hair. 

“What, you don’t have faith in me now?” he asks.

“That’s not it,” I say. “You just should’ve studied.” He stays facing the mirror and scratches his stomach as he turns to look at me with a weird expression on his face. “What’s that look for?” I ask. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

“Definitely wasn’t nothing,” I say, rinsing out my shampoo. “What is it?” 

“Well, now you got me freaked out,” he says. “It’s my final. I didn’t study. I fucked up, I know, and my mom’s already been calling me like crazy and if I fail this, she’s going to flip out on me.” 

“Wait, she’s been calling?” 

He nods and messes with his curls. “Nonstop,” he says. 

“Why?” 

“Bugging me about my grades,” he says. 

“Are they bad, or something?” I ask. 

He whips his head to look at me, his eyes hooded and defensive. “Why would you ask me that?” he says. “Are you just assuming they’re bad, or what?” 

“Geez, no, Jackson,” I say. “Why are you biting my head off?” 

He looks away from me and stares at himself in the mirror. I pull a loofah from a hook on the wall and suds it up with body wash, concentrating on cleaning myself instead of his emotions for a second. “Sorry,” he mutters. 

“It’s fine.” 

“It’s not, it’s… it’s not your fault. Yeah, they’re kind of bad. I’ve been struggling a little bit,” he admits. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, rinsing off the soap from my body. 

“You had your own shit,” he says, waving one arm. “You didn’t need more to think about. And I don’t need to be depending on you all the time to be my brain. I should know how to do it myself at this point. It’s not fair to you to keep asking.” 

“I always want to help you,” I say, hanging the loofah back up and pumping conditioner into my hand. “I would’ve. You don’t have to keep stuff like that from me.” He sighs. “What?” I ask. 

He laughs sardonically. “I do feel like I have to keep it from you, though,” he says. 

“Wait, why?” 

“Because… Jesus, April,” he groans. “You’re so fucking smart. You’re gonna go take AP tests this week after being kicked out of your house, somehow you’re still gonna go take them and we both know you’ll ace them all. And it won’t even be hard for you. You don’t have to try; you got into DePaul on a full ride. And me… when I do get good grades, I have to try so fucking hard. I basically have to dedicate my whole existence to those grades. So if I don’t feel good about telling you when I struggle, it should be obvious as to why.” 

I massage my scalp to get the conditioner in deep, still staring at the wall as we speak. Now the glass is too foggy for us to see each other clearly; I can just see the shape of him. “Do you think I judge you, or something?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Jackson, come on. I don’t judge you. I would never do that. So what, you have to try hard to get good grades? You’ve been really distracted lately, and that’s probably my fault-” 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. 

“Well, it probably partly is, at least,” I say. 

“If you wouldn’t have been here, I would’ve never passed English last quarter,” he says. “Because of what you taught me, it really helped this quarter too. Even though you weren’t my tutor anymore.” 

“Yeah, but, I mean… with our relationship, it probably didn’t help with your focus."

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “It made me happy. Like, happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life. So that should be what matters.” I hear his hands hit the sink as he leans forward. “I just don’t know why this has to matter so much. I don’t know why my mom has to get so involved with my business.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to worry about her,” I say, rinsing for the last time. “Maybe you’ll go in there and it’ll be super easy and you’ll get 100%.” 

He scoffs. “Yeah, right,” he says. “Even if a miracle like that did happen, I’d still get a C- for the class. I’m not doing very good. I’m gonna have to retake it next year.” 

“So, retake,” I say. 

“Not that easy,” he says. “My mom’s going to be up my ass about it. Averys don’t retake,” he mimics the last part in a high-pitched voice.

“Are you scared of what she’s gonna say?” I ask. 

“I already know what she’s gonna say,” he says. “I just don’t wanna fucking hear it for the ten millionth time.” 

“Yeah.” 

Our conversation comes to an end as my shower does, and I turn the water off and reach for the towel that he hands me. I scrub my hair dry, then wrap it around my body and walk behind him out of the bathroom to get into my uniform so we can head to school. 

\---

I avoid my sisters as best as I can at school. Kimmie tries to talk to me before my free period, but I dodge her and disappear inside my classroom even as she waits at the window. But when the late bell rings, she’s forced to leave. When the day is over, though, Alice corners me at my locker and throws her arms around me in a huge hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and I realize that she’s crying. She’s clinging to me with all she has, and I surprise myself and hug her back just as tightly. “I wish you could come home, I miss you and I hate it there without you.” I pet her hair and hold the back of her head with one hand. “When are you coming back?” she asks. 

“I’m not,” I answer, with a bit of difficulty. “I can’t.” 

She sniffles in and pulls back to look at me. “They said you can’t ever come back home?” 

I nod. “Basically. And I’m 18 now. I’m not gonna be coming back.” 

She hugs me again, pressing her face against my shoulder. “It’s not fair,” she says. “It’s not fair that they can just do that to you.” I rub her back and rest my chin on top of her head. “Where are you even staying? Lexie’s?” 

I shake my head. “Mom called her mom and told her not to let me stay,” I say. It’s true, I found that out earlier today when we talked about it. Lexie’s furious with her mom for going along with mine, but there’s not much she can do about it. “I’m staying with Jackson.” 

Alice’s face blanches. “For real?” she asks. “You’re living with a boy?” 

“My boyfriend,” I correct, and it feels good to say it out loud, truthfully, to someone who I never could tell before. 

“Whoa,” she says. 

“Just do me a favor and don’t tell Mom what I’m doing,” I say. “I don’t want her to have that satisfaction. I just want… I just want to pull away from her as best as I can.” 

“I don’t want you to pull away from me,” she says, and I rest my hands on her shoulders. 

“I won’t,” I say, and look deep into her eyes. Unlike my hazel ones, hers are a deep, sapphire blue. I’ve always been jealous of them. 

“You’re still my sister, right?” she asks, her voice soft and unsure. 

“Of course,” I say, and lift my hands from her shoulders to frame her face. “I always will be. Okay?” Looking at her, I’m reminded of a time when she was much younger. I was only four when she was born, but I can remember her best when I was nine and she was five. She wanted to trail after everywhere that Libby, Kimmie and I went, but I was the only one who would ever let her. She was my show-and-tell in kindergarten, when she was just a baby. I have so many special memories with her; she’s the only sister now who I’ll claim.

“Okay.” 

“I love you,” I say. “But I gotta go now.” 

“Okay,” she says again, and gives me one last hug. “Do you think I could come visit you sometime?” 

I tug at the end of one of her two russet-colored braids. “Sure,” I say. “I’d really like that.” 

When I get back to the apartment, Jackson is already there in the living room, playing video games. He pauses when I walk through the door, and I kick my shoes off and go to join him. He’s sitting on a navy blue beanbag on the floor, so I saunter over to him and straddle his hips with one knee on either side, facing him with my arms resting on his shoulders. 

“Well, hello to you, too,” he says, setting the controller down. The game’s pause music keeps playing quietly, giving us some background noise. He touches the tip of his nose to mine and asks, “How was school? How was the test?” 

“Good,” I say, and link my fingers together. “I talked to my sister.” 

He raises his lip in disgust. “Kimmie?” 

I shake my head. “Ali,” I say. 

I close the distance between us and press my lips to his, grinding my hips into his pelvis as we kiss. “God damn,” he murmurs, untucking the back of my blouse so he can slip his hands up my back. As I lean forward, the necklace that I was finally able to put back on dangles between us, and I smile against his mouth as he rakes his fingernails down my spine. 

“How was your test?” I ask, out of the side of my mouth. 

“Mm-mm,” he says. “Shitty.” He slides his hands around to the front of my torso, untucking my shirt all the way as he does so. As he his hands move to the buttons, I can’t get my sister off my mind. I’m picturing her face; her doe eyes wide with sadness, her chin trembling, and how tight her arms were around my waist when she hugged me.

As Jackson gets halfway through undoing my buttons, I feel an overwhelming sadness rise up in my throat and clog it. I start breathing heavier like I do when I’m about to cry, and then the tears come. 

“April - are you…?” he stutters, pulling back and wiping my tears off his cheek. “Babe, what’s wrong?” 

“My sister - I can’t stop… I can’t stop thinking about my sister,” I sniffle, sitting back on my heels. I cover my face with my hands and he strokes the bare skin of my arms with his fingertips. “She was so sad,” I say. “She thought I was gonna come back. She’s only 14… she’s my little sister.” 

“You miss her,” he says. 

“Yeah,” I say. “And not just that… I feel like I let her down.” 

He hugs me close and rubs my back, kissing the side of my face near my ear. “You didn’t,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right? You can’t blame yourself.” 

“I do, though,” I say. “That was my home, those are my sisters, that’s everything I ever knew.” I cling to him as tightly as I can. 

“I know,” he says. 

“I know you can’t fix it,” I say. “I don’t know how I can, either. I want to be with you. But I’m just…”

“Sad,” he finishes. I nod against his shoulder and sob into his ear. “I know,” he whispers. “It’s okay, don’t worry. Everything is gonna be okay. I promise.” 

\---

After school two days later, my last AP test is done which means that the last step before being offically finished with high school is the graduation ceremony. To surprise me, Jackson takes me shopping for ‘normal people clothes,’ which means that we go downtown for the first time as a couple and find our way to Old Navy. 

“Seriously, this is the store you pick?” he asks, looking around once we walk inside. 

It’s full of color and styles I’ve never been able to wear. “What’s wrong with this store?” I take his hand and lead the way inside, completely overwhelmed in the best way at everything laid out in front of us. 

“It’s just a lot,” he says, following me. 

“Just because you wear all sorts of dark colors doesn’t mean I have to,” I say. 

“Nothing wrong with gray,” he says. 

“Nothing wrong with navy blue,” I say, gesturing to my uniform. 

He laughs. “There’s plenty wrong with that. What’s gonna happen when you graduate and can’t wear it everyday?” 

“That’s why we’re here,” I say cheerfully, swinging his arm. 

We spend a long time looking through each section, and by the time it comes to try on, our arms are loaded with clothes. I do a fashion show for him with every new thing I put on my body, feeling more and more special with each one. 

He buys me so much - a brand new wardrobe. I insist that he not spend as much as he does, but of course he doesn’t listen to me. We get on the train and head back to Lincoln Park with two bags in each of our hands and smiles on our faces. 

When we get home, we hang up all the new clothes. Sundresses, shorts, skirts, t-shirts, even a few crop tops. “Thank you for doing this for me,” I say, looking at the clothes and all their vibrant colors. 

“It was really more for me,” he says, flopping down on the bed. “I can’t wait to see you in those crop tops and skirts.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I say, kicking my shoes off. “I probably won’t even be brave enough to wear them.” 

“Oh, so you’re gonna be in a turtleneck all summer?” he asks, and I sit down on the bed next to him. “That’s sad for you. You’re gonna be super hot.” 

“Super hot, huh?” I ask, and lie back with my head on the pillow. 

“I mean, you already are,” he says, pulling my uniform skirt down my legs slowly. As he does that, I work on undoing the buttons of my blouse and then shedding it once they’re all undone. He pushes my thighs apart and I lift my hips so he can slide my underwear off, and at this point we’re both smiling and laughing. The sun streaming in from the windows is warm and sleepy as it shines onto his bed, and when he presses his mouth against me and moves his tongue, I feel like I might be transcending into another dimension. 

I press my lips together and moan softly as he grips my thighs tight in his fingers, and when he hits a certain spot my hips can’t help but jerk up towards his mouth. He smiles against me and digs his nails into my skin, moving his head up and down as I writhe beneath him. 

“Mm, oh, my gosh,” I murmur, arching my back as an electric feeling buzzes through me. My mouth opens wide and I reach down to run my fingers over his hair, and just as I’m about to come, the front door to his apartment comes open and I hear a voice I don’t recognize. 

“Jackson,” the voice calls. “Jackson Avery!” 

He pulls away from me faster than I’ve ever seen him do anything. “Holy shit,” he says, scrambling off of the bed and wiping his mouth. 

“What, what?” I ask, still very indecent. “Who is that?” 

“My fucking mom.” He scratches the back of his neck. “One second!” he calls.

“You better get your ass out here right now, young man,” she says. “I didn’t travel 850 miles to talk to you through a door.” 

He looks at me urgently. “Get dressed,” he says. “Coming, Jesus, just give-” 

Before he can finish his sentence, the bedroom door gets thrown open and I haphazardly pull the sheet over my body to cover myself. I’m only in my bra and knee socks, and Jackson is shirtless in his blue jeans. 

His mother is an average-height woman with short, wavy hair. She’s wearing a lot of fine jewelry with a long cardigan and a shirt with frills. The look on her face holds disappointment, confusion and rage, and I feel like a tiny bug under a microscope in her presence. 

“Just like I thought,” she says, first looking at me and then at her son. “Put a shirt on. Come talk to me in the living room when you’re dressed.” 

She shuts the door again and he leans with one hand pressed to it. “Hi to you, too, mom,” he grumbles. “I’m so sorry, April. I didn’t know she was coming here… I had no clue, I don’t know what’s going on…” 

“It’s fine, go talk to her,” I say, still with the sheet wrapped around me. “I’ll stay here. Don’t worry about me.” 

He sighs deeply and says, “Okay.” 

He leaves the bedroom and shuts the door most of the way behind him, but not quite fully. I can hear absolutely everything that they’re saying, though I convince myself that I’m not purposefully eavesdropping. 

“I saw your grades this quarter,” she says, and she doesn’t sound happy. “What is happening to you? I got you a tutor exactly for this reason, so you wouldn’t fail English again. You barely passed it, Jackson. And you failed both organic chemistry and microbiology, two subjects that I thought I could have at least some faith in you for. Not even that? Not even what I thought you were good at?” 

“Mom, it’s been a rough-” 

“I don’t want to hear what’s been rough,” she says. “You talk to me about rough when you have to raise a son whose father left you all on your own, all the while keeping up the Avery name. You can talk to me about rough when you have to do that. I raised you better than this, and you know that. I know you know that.” There’s a short pause. “I am so, so disappointed in you. I can barely stand to look at you.” 

“Jesus, please. Cut me a break,” Jackson says. 

“Cut you a break? Son, you are living a break! You don’t have to work, you don’t have to pay your own rent. All I asked was for you to pull your own weight in school, damn it! And you couldn’t even do that. You couldn’t do that one simple thing, and for what? For what?” 

“Mom, I’m trying. I really tried.” 

My heart is breaking for him. All I want to do is bust out of here and save him from the woman who won’t let him believe in himself. But I know I can’t; my being out there would only makes things worse. 

“You didn’t really try,” she scoffs. “All you tried to do was get in that little girl’s pants, and it looks like you’ve succeeded. That’s all you cared about this year. Every time I called you it was April this, April that. I had to practically beg you to talk about your schoolwork. All you cared about was her, and frankly, I thought you were better than that, Jackson.” She makes a small sound that might be laughter. “I guess you really are your father’s son.” 

“You’re twisting my words, you aren’t even listening to what I have to say,” he says. 

“I know what you’re going to say before you say it,” she continues. “And I’ll tell you something else. If you plan on continuing down this path - this path where a girl is more important than your future - then I can’t support you any longer. I won’t. I won’t pour my money down the drain so she can live out her little rich-boy fantasy with you.” A pause. “If she matters more than your future, then you can figure out your own way to pay for school. Pay for this apartment. Pay for your credit cards that I’m sure she loves to spend on.” 

“Stop talking about her,” he growls, and I feel myself flush. “She’s not like that. She doesn’t care about my money.” 

“ _ Your _ money?” His mother chuckles. “I guess you’ll see now, right? Now that it’s all gone, if you’re really someone who she wants to be with?” 

“Stop talking,” he says forcefully. 

“You’ve made it very clear to me, Jackson,” she says. “That she matters more than your prestigious future as an Avery. And because of that-” 

I hear footsteps move closer to the door that she came in through. “So what?” he spits. “So what if she does?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“What if I love her more than I love whatever fucked-up, bougie future that you have planned for me?” he says, and I can hear the rage in his voice. “You don’t know her. You don’t know how I feel about her. I don’t care what you say about me, but keep her name out of your mouth.” 

“You’re not going to be happy with the way you’re living in a week,” his mother says. “Just you watch. You won’t know what to do without all this money.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and I can hear that his jaw is clenched. “We’ll both be fine.” 

“Let me know how long this lasts,” she says, and I can hear that she’s almost out the door now. “Give me a call when you’re ready to come back to the real world.” 

The door opens and shuts, and I stay frozen in place until I hear her footsteps disappear all the way down the stairs. After the sound fades away, I get up and put my underwear back on, along with a pair of new sweatpants and a t-shirt of his. Before I can leave the bedroom to go comfort him, he bursts inside with glistening eyes and a mouth set in an aggressive frown. 

“I can’t fucking believe her,” he says, stormily pacing from one end of his room to another. “I can’t fucking believe… did you hear all that?” I nod. “She’s awful,” he says. “She’s the most controlling, manipulative, condescending…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He stops pacing and his eyes flit to mine, his chin trembling. 

“Come here,” I say softly, and open my arms towards him. 

He collapses against me and starts to do what I hadn’t expected him to - cry. With his head pressed to my chest, he sobs like a little boy, and all I can do is rub his back and rock us back and forth in attempts to comfort him somehow. I know there isn’t something I can say in this situation that will make him feel better. I know there’s nothing I can do but be here, and that’s where I plan on staying. 

He cries for a long time. When his sobs die down to sniffles, he wipes his eyes and while keeping his head on my chest, he murmurs, “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and I press my cheek to the top of his hair. “I can’t take care of myself, I can’t take care of you… everything is wrong.” His body rattles with the onset of new tears, so I hold him tighter.

“We’ll figure it out,” I say gently, my lips moving against his curls. 

He shakes his head again, fervently. “No, no, I don’t want you to. I’m not gonna let you stay here and fix this and fix me and think you can make everything better when you’re hurting, too. I was supposed to be the strong one. I was supposed to make a home for you, for us. And now… how am I supposed to do that? I have nothing. You deserve someone who will give you everything. I’m not gonna let you be with me, all I’m gonna do is pull you down with me, and you don’t need that. You’re gonna do great things, April, and all I’m gonna do is stop you.” His shoulders tremble and an errant sob escapes him. “I’m a burden. I can’t… we can’t, I’m not gonna do that to you.”

“No,” I say firmly. “Sorry, you’re stuck with me.” 

There’s a short, confused pause where he realizes what I’ve said. “What?” he asks.

“You’re stuck with me,” I repeat. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter what. You are stuck.”

There’s another pause, and he sits up to look at me. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, and I reach over to wipe stray tears away from his cheeks. “You say stuck like it’s a bad thing,” he says, voice still waterlogged. “Like I don’t want to be stuck with you.” 

I wipe his cheek again, finding another tear gone awry, right by his nose. “You don’t really have a choice in the matter,” I say softly, with a smile. “We’re gonna get through this. Together.” 

A small smile edges its way to his lips, too. “Good,” he says. 

“Good.” 

\---

On June 12th at noon, I’m standing dressed in a navy blue graduation robe with a white sash thrown over my shoulders, along with honors cords. Under the robes, I’m in a brand-new dress covered in flowers and my hair is curled for the occasion. I even have some kitten heels on, which is a surprise to even myself. 

I’m standing in a group with all the other graduating seniors, Lexie and Arizona on either side of me.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Lexie says, one arm thrown around me. “We did it. We’re outta here.”

“About time,” Arizona chimes in. 

“Feels like it went so fast,” Lexie says.

“No, it doesn’t,” I say, and they both laugh and nod. 

They both have family waiting for them in the bleachers outside on the football field, who will cheer and holler when they pass across the stage. But when I walk, all I expect are polite applause because my family won’t be there. Not my sisters, not my parents, not anyone. Jackson is on a job interview this afternoon, and I told him that it was much more important than seeing me in a silly little ceremony that means next to nothing. I told him I’d recreate it for him at home, and we agreed on it. 

Still though, knowing that not a single person came to see me makes me a little sad. I tell myself that I’m allowed to be sad, just for a moment. My entire life, in the past couple weeks, has turned upside down. I’m dealing with it, but it’s not easy. 

We line up in alphabetical order once we get outside. The sun is bright and blinding, so I squint as I look ahead of me to see where we’ll be walking. I zone out as everyone walks and listen to the loud cheers as Lexie crosses, and then wait for my turn. I’m a little embarrassed because everyone is getting super loud support from their family and friends, and I know I’m going to seem like a loser. As always. 

“April Mary Kepner,” Mr. Webber says, and I take my first step to the next part of my life. 

I listen to the familiar silence, the polite clapping and muffled voices. But I only take about two steps before I hear the loudest cheer I’ve ever heard in my life break through the cordiality. I look up to see no one else but Jackson standing at the top of the bleachers, dressed in his interview suit, his hands cupped around his mouth as he screams and shouts for me. 

My mouth gapes open in happy surprise as I continue my walk, and his hooting and hollering continues even as I receive my diploma and take a picture with it. As I make the walk to my seat, I look up in his direction and the sun behind him creates a beautiful silhouette. 

We lock eyes and my heart swells as I know that I’m home. He came here for me, even after I had accepted that no one would. Over the past nine months, he’s become my most important person; the one who I know will never let me down. 

No matter what happens, no matter where the wind in life might push me, I know I’ll be okay. Because Jackson is the anchor - my anchor waiting in the sand - that holds me in place. 


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU EVERYONE for sticking with me through this story! I've enjoyed this universe so much, I'm sad to see it go!! I'll be posting the tracklists of not only the soundtrack for W&A, but also the songs that Jackson put on the 'J For A' and the 'J Loves A' mix CDs, so keep an eye out for those. Again, thank you all for your continued support and kind words. I'll see you again soon. :)

**FOUR YEARS LATER**

Today is the day I graduate from college. Just like last time, it’s early June. But unlike last time, I don’t feel a single ounce of sadness. I’m sitting in front of the mirror in mine and Jackson’s room in our townhouse that we rent, and he’s getting dressed behind me. 

“Where’s my freaking blue shirt?” he asks, and I hear the hangers moving around in our small closet. His old apartment was bigger, fancier, and more modern, but this place has become our home. It’s the first home that we’ve shared, and we’ve made it entirely ours. It’s further away from campus, but it has two floors and the rent is much cheaper. “I swear I just saw it. Is it dirty?” 

“Did you wear it this week?” I ask, leaning forward to tweeze my eyebrows. 

“Don’t think so,” he says. “I was saving it.” 

“Oh,” I say. “Then check in the way back. Maybe you hung it up there.” 

I hear more shuffling around, then he comes up behind me and kisses my cheek. “What would I do without you?” he asks, the shirt in his hand. 

I look over my shoulder and smile at him. “Probably die,” I say. 

He starts to button up the shirt, but I notice that his hands are shaking and he’s messed up the order and made it lopsided. I frown just a little bit, wondering why he’s the nervous one between us, and turn around on the stool I’m sitting on. “Here, come here. Let me,” I say, and stand up across from him. 

I undo all the buttons he’s done wrong and carefully do them up again, starting slowly from the bottom. When I get to the top, I smooth his collar down crisply and then kiss him softly on the lips. “There,” I say softly. 

“Thank you,” he says, winding his arms around my bare waist. All I have on is a bright teal sports bra and a pair of black athletic shorts; we have a while before we have to leave and I’ve been taking my time. My hair is done - I curled it and tied it up in a low ponytail on my shoulder, so all I have left to do is put on my makeup and my dress. 

I turn back around on the stool and take my makeup out from the dresser drawer, and I watch Jackson knock the alarm clock off the nightstand by the bed in a big clatter. I giggle and turn halfway around to look at him. “Why are you freaking out?” I ask. “I’m the one graduating.” 

He fumbles with the clock again as he picks it up, dropping it one more time before setting it back in its place. “I’m just super proud of you,” he says. “That’s all.” 

“Well, you’re sweet,” I say, and let out a big sigh. 

“I’m gonna wait downstairs,” he says. “Leave you be for a while.” 

“Okay,” I say, and smile at him in the mirror. “I’ll be down soon.” 

“Alright,” he says, and kisses the top of my head. “Love you.” 

“Love you,” I say, smirking and shaking my head at his back as he leaves. When big things are about to happen, he can get so squirrelly and anxious, and it’s definitely showing through today. 

But I can’t say the same for myself. I feel calm, cool and collected as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I can’t help but be transported to the last time I graduated, getting ready and knowing that no one would show up for me. Now, things are much different. Jackson will be there again, obviously, along with Lexie, Mark, Arizona, George, Alice and Ms. Montgomery. After my life got turned upside down - even after I was finished with high school - Ms. Montgomery helped me out and became sort of a mentor to me as I started college, and we’ve never lost contact. I still see her about once every week to meet up and talk about how things are going. 

Jackson and I are both working as many hours as we can fit in during the week. I’m a paid intern at a publishing company as I contemplate grad school, and he’s a cashier at Trader Joe’s at night after going to med school at Northwestern during the day. A lot of times, our schedules conflict and we don’t see a lot of each other, but we know it’s for the right reasons. I couldn’t be prouder of him for doing what he’s done even without his family’s money, which was all he ever knew. It was hard for me, too, to emotionally emancipate myself from what I’d known my whole life… but once I took the first step, it was like a breath of fresh air. I had no idea so many experiences and opportunities were just out here in the world, waiting for me. 

I’ve become a brand new person since leaving my family. I’m not afraid of life anymore. 

I stand up from the stool and walk over to the closet that Jackson thoroughly messed up. There isn’t insane closet space like there was at his old place, so we have to share one. I don’t mind, but when we first moved here he had to consolidate considerably. He owned so much stuff; from clothes to electronics to just  _ stuff _ , that he had to get rid of a lot of it. It was hard at first, but got easier. We both had to adapt to brand new lifestyles. 

I flip through my dresses to find one that’ll work, and the one I pull off the hanger is a soft teal with a high collar, ruching on the waist with cap sleeves, and a scalloped skirt. I put a real bra on instead of my sports one, take my shorts off, and slip the dress on so I can match my makeup pallette to its color. 

I sit back down and my eyes wander over the numerous pictures framing my mirror around the sides. The first one I land on is from my first day of college, back in September four years ago. I’m standing in front of the Father Egan statue by the Student Center, backpack high on my shoulders, wearing a very nervous grin. Jackson was behind the camera, telling me to smile, and I was trying not to sweat through my striped pink and white t-shirt. Right then, I’d been more scared than I’d ever been in my life. I was jumping into something completely new without my parents’ blessing, and of course I’d have no classes with Jackson, either. None of my friends chose DePaul as their school, so I felt like I was going in blind. I didn’t want high school to repeat itself; I wanted to be someone new - someone who could make friends easily and not get bullied within an inch of my life. Back then, that concept seemed unrealistic. But once I walked into my first class - writing, rhetoric and discourse - I felt comfortable and at home. No one knew each other. That had been all of our chances at a fresh start. I sat next to a girl with long braids named Maggie, and we hit it off right away. We’re still close friends to this day. 

One up from the first day of college picture is a selfie that Jackson and I took on our first night in this place. We moved in just before school started, on the hottest day ever in late August. In the photo, our faces are shiny with sweat but our smiles are so big that it’s hard to notice anything else. We’re sitting in the middle of the empty living room with a pizza box in front of us, cross-legged and exhausted. With the help of a U-HAUL, we moved to our townhouse in Edgewater from Lincoln Park all on our own, and it was the hardest work I’d ever had to do. I don’t know how I channeled the strength to help him lift all of his heavy stuff, but somehow we got it done. We did it together. And after everything was inside, we ordered a pizza and ate it in the middle of the floor because we were just too tired to unpack anything. We’d wanted to christen the house right then - it was his idea to have sex on the hard floor, and I went for it - but we both fell asleep next to the crumb-filled pizza box before anything could happen. 

The next photo is from our first Christmas in our new place. We got a tiny tree from a Christmas tree place that popped up on the side of the road, and decorated it with popcorn strings, a single strand of lights from Target and a few cheap ornaments. We both have on Christmas sweaters in the picture; his is green with a collared shirt underneath, and I’m wearing my red one with the snowflakes on it, over a green skirt and black tights. Lexie threw a Christmas party that year, and Mark followed us with the mistletoe everywhere we went. He and Jackson became best friends at that party as they co-conspired different places to hide to get me to kiss Jackson about a million and a half times. 

The first college party that we went to together is pictured up here, too. I don’t remember who took the photo, it was probably some stranger, and Jackson and I look silly. He’s got both arms wrapped around me; one around my shoulders and the other across my chest to grip his other wrist, with his cheek resting on top of my head. He was definitely tipsy, and the dumb smile on his face always cracks me up. I have a nearly-full beer clutched in both my hands, my eyes wide and anxious. Jackson had been so happy that I agreed to come with him, and he spent the whole night introducing me to his casual friends. I lost count of how many times he said the word ‘girlfriend.’ 

Lollapalooza is the next photo. I worked two jobs over one summer to afford tickets to surprise him for his birthday because Arctic Monkeys and The Wombats were going to be there, which are two of his favorite artists. In the picture, we’re standing in the middle of a huge crowd of people, and again I don’t know who’s behind the camera. I’m wearing frayed white denim shorts and a bleached blue crop top, my hair in two low braids with circular sunglasses on, up high on Jackson’s shoulders. He’s in a tank top and black shorts, aviator sunglasses on with his hands holding on tight to my thighs. I’m holding up two peace signs with my lips pursed out, and Jackson’s eyes aren’t visible behind his shades, but his head is tilted up to look at me with a soft, amused smile on his face. That day was exhausting both physically and mentally, but I’d had the time of my life with him in is element - surrounded by people who love the same music that both he and I do. I thought we’d collapse once the day was over, but we were on such a high from the day that he jumped me right when we walked through the door when we got home and we didn’t sleep at all that night. 

The best thing about living with him in this house is that it’s  _ ours _ . There are no rules. I can eat in the living room if I want to, I can wear my shoes inside if I want to, I can drink right out of the milk carton if I want to. Jackson and I can have sex in any one of these rooms if we feel like it, because this place is ours. It’s the best feeling - being an adult and calling my own shots. I never thought I’d like it as much as I do. 

There’s only one facet of my old life that I keep with me, and that’s my sister, Alice. She’s 18 now and just about done with high school. She’s made it through without any major hiccups, but wants nothing more than to get out of that house like I did. At first, she had to come see me in secret, but then had a confrontation with our parents during her sophomore year that she should be able to be in contact with me because we’re sisters. They understood, and they let her come over whenever she wants. I see her not only for every holiday, but also about once a week for dinner. Jackson helps her with the chemistry and biology that she doesn’t understand in school, and I do my part in helping with writing, like always. 

There’s a picture of the three of us from my birthday two months ago; I’m in the middle with a pointed party hat on, and Alice and Jackson are on either side of me with noisemakers in their mouths and jewel stickers pressed on their faces. I’m all for parties, but those two are something else when they get together. Their smiles are nearly-manic, and I have an expression on my face that doesn’t hide the fact that I was very done with their shenanigans. 

The last picture framing my mirror is one of the first that Jackson and I have together. Once I ended my relationship with my parents, Lexie brought this photo to me to make me feel better about everything, and it definitely did its job. It’s Jackson and I before prom, dressed in our very best, standing inches away from each other in front of the school as he puts the corsage on my wrist. His grip on my hand is gentle, and he’s not looking down at the flowers like I am, but instead - up at me. He has a subtle smile on his face and in the photo, I don’t even realize how he’s looking at me; I don’t realize how insanely lucky I am to have someone like him who loves me. 

But now I know. Over the last four years, Jackson has been my pillar of strength whenever I need him, and I try to be the same in return. Of course, we fight like every other couple, but they never last long. We’ve gotten good at talking through things instead of bottling them up and waiting for them to come to blows. Sometimes, I come through the door after a long day and see him sitting at his desk working on some sort of homework, and my stomach flutters like we’ve only just met. I still get excited when I think about him, and I learn something new about him every day. Even though we’ve been together for over four years and are very familiar with each other, nothing about our relationship feels old or set in its ways. It’s still very new and exciting, and our sex life is still very alive, but that’s no surprise. 

I direct my eyes away from the photos on my mirror and back to my own face so I can do my makeup. Once I’m done, I put on my earrings and then, as the final touch, my diamond and spinel necklace that Jackson gave me for Christmas all those years ago. I give myself a once-over in the mirror, do a twirl, and then grab my graduation robes off the hook and slip them on without zipping up quite yet. 

With my cap and cords in one hand and my lipstick in the other, I hurry out of our room and call to him. “Jackson,” I say. “Can you grab my purse? We’re going to be late. I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault, but I’m trying to hurry now.” I hurry to the bathroom, brush my teeth quickly, and then come back out with a confused look because he didn’t respond. “Jackson?” I call out again, starting down the stairs. “Did you hear me? Can you-” 

I get to the bottom of the stairs and stop dead in my tracks. He’s waiting for me, there just past the bottom step, but he’s not leaning against the countertop tapping his watch as usual. No, right now, he’s down on one knee, looking up at me with a calm smile on his face, and a little velvet ring box open in his hands.

“What are you…” I breathe, and the cap and cords drop from my hands as I take one more step down to get on his level. 

“April…” he says, then chuckles and shakes his head at himself. “Apricot. There’s no one in my life who I love more than you… no one in my life who loves me better than you. You’re my soulmate; you made me believe in that stuff when I never did before. In my whole life, no one’s ever been there for me like you are, every single day. Even when it’s the most stupid stuff. Like yesterday, when you told me that I wasn’t a dumbass for burning the frozen pizza, or on big stuff, like when you helped me study for the MCATs and encouraged me even when I thought I couldn’t do it. You make me feel like I can do anything, and I love you… I love you more than anything. There’s no one else who I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” 

As I stare down at him with my hands raised to cover my mouth, my brain rewinds to a hot, muggy day in early September. I picture myself as I stood in front of the glass doors of Arts & Letters Hall, fixing my knee socks and trying to tell myself that I wasn’t exploding with nerves. I remember stepping through the doors, looking around through a sea of college students and being unbelievably intimidated, then hearing…

_ You must be April _ . 

I remember turning and looking at him, stammering out words that probably didn’t make sense, and dropping my things everywhere as the humble, modest, sensitive boy before me now showed me his arrogant, cocky, entitled side. 

I remember walking up on him in the quad every day that autumn as we got to know each other; I remember realizing I had a crush on him and thinking it would never go anywhere, and now… 

“April, will you marry me?” he asks. 

My eyes well up with tears; he stands up and I jump into his arms at the same time, crying, “Yes, yes, yes. Of course I will.” 

He picks me up with his arms wrapped around the small of my back, and my feet lift from the ground as he spins us and kisses me. I pull back and look into his eyes with our noses pressed together, and am overwhelmed with how far we’ve come and how far we’ll be able to go together. The possibilities for us are endless. 

As we kiss over and over again, I smile against his lips as I realized that I’ve proven my mother wrong.

_ There’s no way someone like him could ever be your husband _ .

And now, he will be. And I’m going to be his wife. 

I hold his face in my hands and he sets my feet back down on the ground, gazing into my eyes with equal intensity as I’m gazing into his. “What?” he asks. 

“I’m just so happy,” I say, running my hands down his shoulders. “We’re doing this. We’re really doing this.” 

He kisses me again, long and slow. “We’re gonna be a family,” he says, once he breaks away. 

I take in a shaky breath and decide that now is a better time than any to tell him. I take his wrist, move aside my graduation gown, and lay his hand on my belly that’s still flat but won’t be for much longer. I look up at him, smile, and say, “We already are.” 


	15. The soundtracks!

**[J For A](https://open.spotify.com/user/1245397949/playlist/2QN1dEP57NGn3mc9B02RJP): **

_Nobody’s Perfect_ \- **Hannah Montana** // _Uptown Funk_ \- **Mark Ronson, Bruno Mars** // _We’re Going To Be Friends_ \- **The White Stripes** // _This Will Be Our Year_ \- **The Zombies** // _Ain’t No Mountain High Enough_ \- **Marvin Gaye, Tammi Terrell** // _September_ \- **Earth, Wind & Fire** // _Back To Black_ \- **Amy Winehouse** // _R U Mine?_ \- **Arctic Monkeys** // _Try A Little Tenderness_ \- **Otis Redding** // _Campus_ \- **Vampire Weekend** // _The House of the Rising Sun_ \- **Nina Simone** // _Don’t Stop Me Now_ \- **Queen** // _There Is A Light That Never Goes Out_ \- **The Smiths** // _You Can’t Hurry Love_ \- **The Supremes** // _Friday I’m In Love_ \- **The Cure** // _Let’s Dance To Joy Division_ - **The Wombats** // _ABC_ \- **The Jackson 5** // _All The Small Things_ \- **blink-182** // _Sarah Smiles_ \- **Panic! At the Disco** // _Come On Eileen_ \- **Dexys Midnight Runners** // _The Sound_ \- **The 1975** // _Dancing in the Moonlight_ \- **Toploader** // _Only the Good Die Young_ \- **Billy Joel**

**[J Loves A:](https://open.spotify.com/user/1245397949/playlist/0sAnLGOD8ZxhztGikX7YjH) **

_Songbird_ \- **Fleetwood Mac** // _Tenerife Sea_ \- **Ed Sheeran** // _Can’t Help Falling in Love_ \- **Elvis Presley** // _Skinny Love_ \- **Bon Iver** // _Flaws_ \- **Bastille** // _Lovebug_ \- **Jonas Brothers** // _If I Knew_ \- **Bruno Mars** // _She Is Love_ \- **Parachute** // _Somewhere Over The Rainbow_What a Wonderful World_ \- **Israel Kamakawiwo’ole** // _Baby I’m Yours_ \- **Arctic Monkeys** // _The Nearness Of You_ \- **Norah Jones** // _All The Right Reasons_ - **The Jayhawks** // _Suzanne_ - **Leonard Cohen** // _April In Paris_ \- **Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong** // _Let’s Stay Together_ \- **Al Green** // _M+M’s_ \- **blink-182** // _I Will Follow You Into The Dark_ \- **Death Cab For Cutie** // _Gasoline (acoustic)_ \- **The Airborne Toxic Event** // _Come On Get Higher_ \- **Matt Nathanson** // _You Are The Best Thing_ \- **Ray LaMontagne** // _Nobody Better_ \- **Jakubi**

**[Sex Jams:](https://open.spotify.com/user/1253167892/playlist/6j21VxOr1mOQ7gYllspyVU) **

_Pony_ \- **Ginuwine** // _Adorn_ \- **Miguel** // _Body Party_ \- **Ciara** // _5 O’Clock_ \- **T-Pain, Lily Allen, Wiz Khalifa** // _Girl_ \- **The Internet, KAYTRANADA** // _Let’s Get It On_ \- **Marvin Gaye** // _Sexual Healing_ \- **Marvin Gaye** // _Mine_ \- **Beyonce, Drake** // _Wet The Bed_ \- **Chris Brown, Ludacris** // _Ride_ - **SoMo** // _In the Morning_ \- **J. Cole, Drake** // _Coffee (F***ing)_ \- **Miguel, Wale** // _Crazy In Love (remix)_ - **Beyonce** // _Love Faces_ \- **Trey Songz** // _Freaks Of The Industry_ \- **Digital Underground** // _Lotus Flower Bomb_ \- **Wale, Miguel** // _Some Kind Of Drug_ \- **G-Eazy, Marc E. Bass** y // _Childs Play_ \- **SZA, Chance the Rapper** // _Between Your Thighs_ \- **Rayven Justice, Young Greatness** // _Don’t_ \- **Bryon Tiller** // _Juke Jam_ \- **Chance the Rapper, Justin Bieber, Towkio** // _Anymore_ \- **Ella Mai** // _Bad Intentions_ \- **Niykee Heaton, Migos** // _Come Over_ \- **Trey Songz** // _Electric_ \- **Alina Baraz, Khalid** // _Falling Autumn_ \- **alayna, Astronomyy** // _First Fuck_ \- **6LACK, Jhene Aiko**

**[Wind & Anchor Inspiration Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1253167892/playlist/33LCyA1jA0we6fdUW8LwJP) **


	16. Outtake #1

“Hey baby mama, you got that nugget all strapped in?” Jackson asks, locking the door behind us as we leave the house. It’s a sunny morning in late March, and unseasonably warm for Chicago. I’m perfectly comfortable in a light zip-up, and Jackson isn’t wearing a coat at all.

Of course, we had a lively debate over what outerwear Everly should put on for our outing to the grocery store. It’s 60 degrees, but if Jackson had his way, she’d be in a snowsuit.

“This thing makes her feel ten times heavier,” I say, peering around Everly’s round head to see where I’m walking as I make my way down the front steps. Jackson tightens the straps as we walk out of the gate and jiggles us both around, which makes the baby giggle.

“I can carry her, if you want,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, outstretching my arms to either side of me. “You carry her ‘til we get there. Then Mama gets baby time.”

“Sounds good,” he laughs, and we make the difficult switch of putting the baby carrier on his chest instead of mine, then slipping our chubby daughter inside it.

“Now I can look at your pretty face,” I say, walking backwards in front of Jackson and smushing Everly’s cheeks. “How’s my best girl? Hi, baby. Hi, little sunshine girl.”

I glance up at Jackson and see him smiling at me and shaking his head. I don’t need to ask why; I already know.

“Mama!” Everly squeals, reaching her hands out for me with her gummy smile - two teeth on top and two on the bottom.

“Where’s Mama’s nose?” I ask her, waiting at a crosswalk until the walk sign lights up. The baby reaches out and grabs my nose with her clumsy hand. “How about my mouth?” I ask, and she puts her hand over my mouth and I pretend to chew on her with my lips covering my teeth. “I got you!” I squeal.

We cross the street and Jackson takes my hand in his.

“How about where’s Daddy?” I ask Everly, lifting Jackson’s hand to kiss each of his knuckles. He breaks our fingers apart only to rest them on top of our baby’s head, and she screams with laughter when he covers her eyes with them. “Is that Daddy being silly?” I ask her, and blow raspberry kisses on her cheeks.

I look up at him and squint against the sunlight, and he leans over to kiss my forehead. I smile and lean into him, and Everly babbles nonsense on his chest while kicking her legs and swinging her arms. It’s been almost a year since she was born - her birthday is only three days after mine, on April 26th. I can hardly believe that she’s turning one soon; it seems like just yesterday that I was in the delivery room, screaming and crying with Jackson by my side, clutching my hand and petting my hair back.

But the time has flown. Jackson is a surgical intern at Northwestern Memorial and I’m an administrative assistant at a publishing house in hopes of working my way up the ladder while I work on a novel. Our hours don’t coincide a lot of the time, so during the weekend when the three of us can be together, we cherish it. I miss seeing him as much as I used to, but I know it’s for a good reason. We’re both making our way in the world along with our beautiful baby girl. We couldn’t be happier.

There’s an engagement ring that sits on the ring finger of my left hand that holds the place of a wedding ring that we’re saving up for. He doesn’t have access to his Avery money anymore, at least not yet. His mother said that the time will return where he will, but as of right now he doesn’t even want it. He wants to make his own way with me, the two of us together. We’ve done the best we can with Everly, and so far I think we’ve done a pretty amazing job. She’s growing perfectly and is the happiest baby I’ve ever known.

We’re nowhere near settled in our life together, still working up to that wedding that will happen eventually. They’re so expensive, and right now neither of us have the time or funds. But we wear our engagement rings for a reason - we know that we’ll get there someday. We’re not rushing. At this point, we’ve been together for almost five years and neither of us is going anywhere - especially taking our beautiful baby girl into consideration.

We walk into Whole Foods and I do grabby hands at Jackson so he hands Everly over. “Your mommy is so handsy,” he tells the baby, lips moving against the wispy hairs by her temple. “I know that better than anyone.”

“Hey, hey,” I scold as I take her and set her on my hip. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Pretty girl who takes after her mama,” Jackson says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we walk past the dessert wall.

“Ooh, Jackson, wait stop,” I say, turning to face the sweets. There’s pudding, cake, brownies and everything in between put singularly in little plastic containers, all set out to tempt me. “I think Evvie wants something from here.”

“Oh, Evvie does,” he says. “Do you want a treat, Evvie?” Jackson asks her, and she gnaws on her fist. “She says no. She’s happy with her hand. And she told me a secret, that it’s you who’s the sugar addict who wants something from here.”

I giggle up at him and he steals a short kiss. “She’s always ratting me out,” I say, and pick out a piece of chocolate cake with a raspberry on top and put it into the basket that Jackson’s carrying.

“What do we need here again?” he asks, curiously peering down the first aisle.

“You have dad brain,” I say, punching his bicep with my free hand that isn’t wrapped around the baby.

“Not only dad brain, but intern brain, too,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess,” I say, standing on tiptoe to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Okay, kind of a mess. But you’re my mess.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, turning so I can kiss his lips instead of his cheek, then moving to kiss the crown of his daughter’s head. “But I still can’t remember why we’re here.”

“Taco night!” I say excitedly. “We need ingredients. We don’t have anything; so we need shells, seasoning, ground beef, sour cream, salsa, you know...everything.”

“Oh, right,” he says. “Taco night! How could I forget?”

“Dad brain,” I repeat, and hitch Everly higher on my hip as she’d started to sag. “Taco night, taco night, taco night,” I sing to her, swaying us playfully side to side.

She grins at me and babbles words that have no meaning, reaching out to touch my face as she does so. I nibble on her fingers and she laughs some more as we keep dancing through the aisle a few steps behind Jackson, who’s doing all the work in gathering our supplies for dinner tonight. Well, except for the small bottle of hot sauce that he’s let Everly hold onto.

When we move onto the next aisle I’m still caught up in the baby - so much so that I end up bumping right into someone. With a leftover smile on my face, I look up and am about to say ‘excuse me,’ before I realize who it is.

My mother.

When she realizes who’s bumped into her, her face drains of all color and her hazel eyes grow wide with surprise. My heart beats heavy in my throat and I don’t break eye contact with her, not even when I feel Jackson’s protective touch on my upper arm. I haven’t spoken to her since the moment she kicked me out of the house before my high school graduation five years ago, and I was a very different person then. At 18, I was just coming into my own - still meek, mild, and eager to please. Now, I’m 23 and very sure of myself. I’m a fiancee, a mother, a caretaker, a writer. I can hold my own now.

She doesn’t scare me like she used to, but now I don’t know what to call her. She’s hardly my mother anymore, but I can’t bring myself to call her by her given name.

“Hi,” I say coldly, holding that eye contact. I won’t shy away from her; I refuse to do that.

“Hello,” she responds, equally as cool.

I take in a deep breath, perfectly aware of how hot my cheeks have become. I don’t want to let her win though, she doesn’t have control over me anymore. I’ve made a life for myself with no help from her that doesn’t involve my family - no one except for Alice, that is. Everly only knows one of her aunts.

“Would you like to meet your granddaughter?” I ask, surprising even myself.

My mother’s eyes dart to the baby on my hip like she’s noticing her for the first time. She looks away from the both of us before letting her eyes linger on Jackson - and I can only imagine what his expression must look like right now.

“Excuse me,” she says, pushing past us. Jackson turns and watches her leave, but I can’t let her go that easily.

I power-walk after her, unrelenting. “Remember when you said that I wouldn’t succeed?” I call after her, and she doesn’t turn around. “Remember when you said Jackson would never be my husband? Well guess what? We’re getting married soon.” She stops and I walk around to face her, flashing the ring on my finger. “We have a baby. Our daughter. Her name is Everly Paige. You probably think she’s so ungodly, don’t you? But you know what? She was baptized when she was ten weeks old. The three of us go to church every Sunday morning - not the same church, but church.” My face is burning red by now, I’m sure. “You have a granddaughter,” I say, hoisting Everly up again. She’s resting her head against my shoulder, watching my mother with intent fascination. “And you don’t even want to meet her.”

“You have no right saying these things to me,” she says finally.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “You’ve said things to me that were ten times as horrible. You _will_ acknowledge the fact that she is your granddaughter. She did nothing to you.”

I don’t know why I’m so bent on this. Maybe because it’s not about me, it’s about my daughter. And I won’t have her existence disrespected by her own grandmother.

“I need to go,” my mother says, turning on her heel and dropping her shopping basket at our feet. She pushes her way through the revolving doors at the entrance, and I follow close behind her. I don’t make it far, though, because the security alarms go off from the bottle of hot sauce in Everly’s grasp that we haven’t paid for.

I turn back around and reenter the store to find Jackson right there, looking wide-eyed, concerned, and angry. Everly is crying now and he tries to take her to relieve me, but I keep a good hold on her. “She wants to nurse,” I say.

“I thought we were gonna try to wean her,” he says.

“She wants to nurse,” I say adamantly, and feel the tears prick at the back of my eyes. “I want to leave. Can we go home? I just want to go home.”

The baby’s cries are getting louder. “Yeah, let’s go,” Jackson says, and sets our full basket down by the checkout. We leave without buying anything.

I sit in the rocking chair by the window in the living room when we get home with the baby to my chest as she eats happily. She has one hand on my collarbone with her fingers fanned out and the other one tucked beneath her body, and once in awhile she’ll open those pretty green eyes to meet mine and smile.

It calms me down, to have her like this. Jackson was right earlier, we have been trying to get her down to just solid foods and regular milk, but this is a comfort thing. I think we both need it today.

He’s sitting a few feet away from me on the couch with a medical journal in his lap, chewing on his lower lip as he reads. I open my mouth to say something about the encounter, but then close it - deciding to keep quiet instead and just let him read. I stroke Everly’s back and comb my fingers through her wispy curls until she’s finished, then pull my shirt back up and rock her until she falls asleep against my chest.

“She down?” Jackson asks. I hadn’t known he was watching us.

“Yeah,” I whisper, ghosting my fingers over the back of her head. “Isn’t she just beautiful?”

“Of course she is,” he says, closing the journal. “She’s ours.”

“I know,” I say, still gently touching her. “I’m just… I don’t know. I think I’m always gonna be amazed by her.”

He’s silent for a minute, and I fill it before the conversation can veer in the direction I know that it wants to.

“Sorry that we can’t have tacos,” I mutter.

“It’s fine,” he says. “We’ll just order a pizza or something.”

We do, and Everly loves it. She’s a pizza fiend, so we’ve figured out. She eats so messily that we have to get her in the bath before bedtime, but bathtime is her favorite so it’s not too much of a struggle. I think she’s extra cute when she’s fresh out of a bath, those curls all brushed down and her body warm and sweet-smelling. I hold her close while she’s wrapped up in her towel and pray that I’ll never forget what it was like when she was this small.

Sometimes, we co-sleep with her and tonight she refuses to be put down in her own crib. So Jackson and I find ourselves in our bed with a little person between us, somehow taking up most of the room.

Jackson props himself up on his elbow and I follow suit, kissing him when he leans closer. He deepens the kiss by winding his hand through my hair and knotting his fingers in it, and I moan softly into his mouth.

But before we can get far, I pull away and whisper, “There’s a baby in our bed.”

He chuckles and looks down at our sleeping angel. “Yeah, you’re right. There is.”

Everly doesn’t even stir as Jackson bends to kiss her round cheek. “She has the best daddy,” I say, watching him cuddle her. “Someday she’s gonna know how lucky she is.”

“Oh, enough with the lucky,” he says, rubbing her belly. “I’m no special snowflake. You’re super-mom, here. Don’t give me any credit. I wish I was better.”

I sigh. “Jackson,” I say, a little annoyed. I situate the baby so she’s lying on her stomach on Jackson’s chest and I’m tucked up next to his body - he uses one arm to wrap around me and the other to tickle his daughter’s back. “You are a good father. You’re loving, caring, accepting… you’ll be there for her with whatever she chooses to do in life.”

There’s a moment of silence between us and I feel his lips press against my hairline. “Are you messed up from earlier?” he asks, probably already knowing the answer.

I lay my hand overtop of his on Everly’s back. “Yeah,” I say.

“Wanna talk about it?”

I exhale deeply through my nose. “Yeah,” I say again.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s talk. We saw your mom.”

“We saw my mom,” I say. I feel like I’m about to cry. “She wouldn’t even...” I sniffle. “She wouldn’t even look at her.”

“She couldn’t make herself,” he says vehemently. “She’s so fucking pissed that you went and made a life despite her-”

“It feels like more than that,” I say. “How can she still think those things? It happened so long ago. This is her granddaughter we’re talking about - a child. A little baby. A little baby who she couldn’t even look at, let alone claim as her own.” Tears are rolling down my face faster now, and I push my face into his chest to quell the sounds I’m making. I don’t want to wake the baby up.

“You know what it is?” he says. “It’s sad. It’s just plain sad.” He rubs my shoulder, his thumb moving in slow circles. “She’s the one missing out. Evvie doesn’t know any better - she doesn’t even know that another grandma exists. Don’t you worry about her feelings, at least not right now. Your mom, she’s just… she’s gonna carry that anger with her forever. And you can’t let her push it off onto you. You got rid of all that, honey. You left that. And now things are so much better.”

“Yeah,” I say, holding the hem of his t-shirt between my thumb and first finger, running it between them as a comfort to myself. “You’re right.”

“I am sometimes,” he says, and turns his head to kiss my forehead.

His words help, but they don’t leave me fully satisfied. I lie there staring ahead at what’s closest to me, which happens to be Jackson’s bare chest and Everly’s chunky arm. I let out a long sigh and trace my fingernail down his side, then press my forehead against him.

“What?” he prompts, knowing that I still have a lot on my mind.

“It’s just…” I trail off. “It’s not fair. Are they hurting the way that I am right now? Do they even feel anything?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I have no idea, baby. But judging by her past behavior...wait, they?”

“Mom. Kimmie, Libby, Dad. Everyone.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long pause. “Do you think they think about me?” I ask.

“I…” He closes his mouth and squeezes me closer. “I don’t know.”

“But what do you think?”

“They probably never talk about what happened, but yeah. I bet they think about it a lot,” he says.

“Do you think they regret what they did?” I ask, knowing I probably won’t like the answer he gives me.

“I…”

“I know,” I say, before he can finish his thought. “I already know. I’m just so…”

“Mad,” he finishes.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I’m so… I am _so_ … mad. I’m furious. I feel like my skin is on fire.”

“Well I’m already very hot, which means I’m flammable...so please don’t catch me on fire,” he murmurs.

“Jackson,” I say. “Come on. I’m serious. I-I… I think I’m gonna go over there.” I sit up with my legs criss-crossed in front of me and push my hair out of my face.

“April,” he says, the tone of his voice very deliberate. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Well, I do,” I say. “I want them to know what they’re missing out on. I want them to see her. I want them to feel _bad_.” I let out a trembling breath. “I’m going over there, and I’m bringing her. And I’m bringing you.”

“I just don’t think you’re thinking this all the way through,” he says, and I can see the soft light from the night reflecting in his eyes. “I just don’t…” He sighs. “April.” He turns his head fully and gives me a look that I’ve come to recognize as something that’s meant to bring me back to earth.

“I am,” I insist. “I want them to feel what they’re missing. I want them to feel bad, like I just said.”

“Apricot, they _won’t_ ,” he says. “They’re not gonna feel that way. You know it, and I know it. You showing up at that godforsaken doorstep is only gonna hurt you, because they won’t feel a thing. They’ll say some nasty things to you, you’ll fight with them and leave angrier than you came.”

I set my jaw and stare down at the blankets instead of at him.

“What is it?” he asks.

“How come you can’t just be on my side?” I say.

“April, there aren’t any sides here,” he insists, both hands on the baby’s back now.

“Yes, there are, and you aren’t on mine,” I say, and I feel a few tears slip down my cheeks.

“I’m gonna support you in whatever you decide to do, but all I’m doing is trying to help you not get hurt here,” he snaps, and his rise in tone wakes Everly and she starts to fuss and cry.

“She’s hungry,” I say, and reach my arms out for her. Jackson gingerly hands her over and I roll over onto my side, facing away from him, to nurse her while lying down.

“I thought you said we were going to try and get her on a bottle,” he says, and I frown while running my hand over Everly’s back under my shirt.

“Well, she’s hungry now, and I don’t feel like getting up and making a bottle,” I say shortly.

“At this rate, she’s never gonna take a bottle if you keep giving in and nursing her,” he says, and I can hear his eye-roll without even looking over.

“Why is this such a big deal for you?” I ask. “Why are you picking a fight with me right now?”

“I’m not picking a fight,” he says.

I flip my head around to look at him, which detaches Everly from my breast and makes her cry. “Oh, hold on baby,” I say, and guide her back. Once she’s latched again, I say, “Yes, you are,” while looking at the opposite wall.

“I’m not.”

“I’m not going to sit here and argue with you like children,” I say. “You’re picking a fight because-”

“I’m not picking a fight,” he insists. “I… Jesus, April, I miss you. Our schedules are completely opposite, we hardly ever see each other, let alone get time to have sex. That body… right now I feel like our baby owns your body.” He chuckles sardonically at himself. “I know it’s completely fucked to be jealous of a _baby_ , let alone our own daughter, but I kind of do. Every time we even get close, I feel like she knows and starts to cry. My own kid is cockblocking me from my fiancee, and I’m just… I miss you.”

I sit up, situating the baby to bring her with me and cradle her as she finishes. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” I say. “I didn’t… I miss you, too,” I say. “I…” I smile at him and feel Everly move away from my chest and cuddle sleepily against me, and I lift her up to rest her head on my shoulder. “I’m gonna go put her in her crib then.”

“Yeah?” he says, face opening up. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Be right back.” The baby is already mostly asleep when I lay her down, so she doesn’t put up a fight when I leave. I go back into mine and Jackson’s bedroom and hop on the bed next to him, not wasting any time in straddling his torso and sitting down on his lower stomach. “You’re jealous of a baby…” I sing under my breath.

“Shut up,” he says.

“Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?” I ask, bending at the waist to kiss his neck. “You’ve had to share me for almost a year.”

“The four years I had you all to myself kinda trumps that,” he says, grazing his hands up my sides and scratching me lightly with his fingernails as he goes. I run my tongue over his adam’s apple and suck his skin into my mouth, being forceful with my teeth and lips. “Are you trying to brand me?” he asks, laughing.

“Might be,” I say.

“You do know I’m already yours, right?”

I giggle. “Doesn’t hurt to remind people.”

He gets my shirt off over my head and skims his hands up my torso, pausing just below my breasts. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Just be careful,” I say. “They might… I don’t know, it might get messy. Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I don’t have to,” he says. “I have some willpower. I can wait.”

“That’s probably better,” I say. “Otherwise I might end up spritzing you in the eye or something.” We both crack up and I dismount him and lay down on my back, shimmying out of my shorts on the way there. “Pants off, mister,” I say, tugging on the drawstring of his pajama pants.

He smirks and does as he’s told, stripping down to just his underwear as he settles between my legs and showers them with kisses. Once he gets high enough for me to reach, I stroke his scalp and lift my hips to help him get my underwear off, and he slingshots them across the room so they hit the wall and then fall down noiselessly.

“You have bad aim,” I say, pulling on his earlobes gently.

“I meant to hit the wall,” he says.

“Mm-hmm,” I say. “Sure.”

I giggle and pull his face up to mine, cradling his jaw in my hands as we kiss. I wrap my legs around his waist and feel his insistent hardness pressing against my inner thigh, and my hips buck instinctively in response to it. He lowers his face to my neck and sucks on my skin slowly and lazily, and I rake my fingernails gently over his shoulder blades while he tries to makes marks on my skin.

“Now who’s branding who?” I murmur, looking up at the ceiling with shining eyes. My body goes limp when he finds the particular spot at the curve of my jawbone and runs his tongue over it, and he knows how crazy it makes me.

“Doesn’t hurt to remind people,” he says, mimicking me from just minutes ago. “Listen, babe, I am on your side,” he continues, moving his kisses to my shoulder.

It takes me a second to remember what he’s talking about, but it comes back to me. “Yeah…” I say. “I know.”

“I’m always on your side,” he says. “No matter what. You wanna kill a dude? I’m there to hide the body. You wanna rob a bank? I’m there with the getaway car. Seriously.”

“I don’t know why I’m suddenly a criminal,” I say, arms still wrapped around him. “But thank you.”

“I just don’t want them hurting you again,” he says.

“I know you don’t,” she says. “I don’t want that, either. But I just…” I try to piece together the words in my head. “I just want my family to see how well we’re doing.”

“Your family _does_ see,” he says. “Your family lives right here with you, in this townhouse.”

He lifts up his head and kisses me slowly on the lips. “Okay,” I say. “You’re right.”

He laughs and takes my bottom lip in his mouth, worrying it with his teeth as we kiss. “Did that shut you up?” he asks lightly.

I swat his back. “No,” I say. “I’m still gonna figure out some way to show them.”

“We will,” he says, weaving his fingers through my hair. “I love you. So much. You know that, right?”

“I think I figured it out somewhere along the way,” I giggle, and he playfully bites the shell of my ear and makes me squeal.

“You better say it back,” he chides, his voice giving me chills from the proximity.

“I don’t know…” I say, trying to roll away from him as he holds me in place. He digs his fingers into my sides and I can’t help the wild smile that breaks onto my face. “Okay! I love you, too!”

We dissolve into quiet laughter and I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he pushes inside me, and we hold each other close until we both come undone around the same time. That’s a perk of being with the same partner for so long - we know each other’s bodies as well as our own. I know him better than anyone else, and he can say the same for me.

I wouldn’t change a thing about our life. It’s not that I need validation from my family, it’s not that at all. I want to rub it in their face what a nice life I’ve made for myself, if only for personal satisfaction. But I can’t figure out a way to do that without having it come back and bite me in the butt.

***

In the middle of the week, Jackson gets home just before dinner as Everly and I are cooking in the kitchen. I have her on my hip as one of Jackson’s playlists plays on the kitchen speaker, bouncing around and dancing while we wait for the oven.

“Smells good,” he says, dropping his shoulder bag with a heavy thud.

“You’re home early,” I say, walking away from the range to meet him at the door. I stand on tiptoes for a kiss, and he presses his lips to mine before kissing Everly on the forehead.

“Missed my girls,” he says. “What’re you making?”

“Enchiladas,” I say.

“Sounds amazing,” he says. “Want help?”

“You can chop up the tomatoes,” I say. “I was gonna try to, but this one starting crying every time I put her down.” I squeeze the baby tighter and smush my lips against her cheek, kissing her repeatedly. “Being a needy little girl tonight.”

“I know the feeling,” Jackson says with a smile. On his way to grab the knife and the cutting board, he passes behind me and smacks me on the butt.

“Hey,” I warn. “You watch yourself.”

“Can’t hurt me,” he says. “You got an arm full of baby.”

“There’s always later,” I say, smirking at him over Everly’s head. She’s holding onto the lid of the sour cream container, chewing on the plastic ridges of it and making nonsense sounds.

We both look over at Jackson as he chops to the rhythm of the song September by Earth, Wind & Fire. “He’s so silly,” I whisper in her ear, and her smile widens on the container lid. “Daddy’s so silly. Can you say ‘dada’?” I press my lips to her temple, knowing that she’s capable of saying it. “Who’s that?” I ask, my voice high in pitch. “Tell mama who’s that!”

Everly reaches both of her arms straight out, dropping the container lid, and says, “Dada!” in her cute little voice.

“That’s right!” I cheer, and a huge smile breaks onto Jackson’s face. “That’s Dada!”

He finishes chopping up the tomatoes and then comes over to us, stealing the baby from me. He lifts her high into the air and blows a raspberry on her exposed belly, and she squeals with laughter. “Hi, little nugget,” he says. “My best nugget.” He brings her back down to face level and rubs the tip of his nose against hers. “Starting to look more and more like your mama every day,” he tells her.

I scoff. “I don’t see it,” I say.

“I’m telling you, you must be blind,” he says. “Her dimple’s popping! Just like yours.”

“Okay, fine,” I say. “I’ll give you that.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, entwining an arm around my lower back as I put the oven mitts on, ready to take the enchiladas out. “Hey, I had an idea that I think you’ll like.”

“Yeah?” I ask. “What’s that?”

I set the pan of enchiladas down on the island and take the oven mitts off, popping my weight over to one hip. “We still have a few leftover Christmas cards, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “They’re in the junk drawer. Why?”

With Everly still on his hip, he walks over and pulls one out. I catch a glimpse of it and can’t help but smile - the three of us are sitting in front of a Christmas tree; Jackson and are I shoulder-to-shoulder with the baby in the middle of us, all of us entwined in lit-up Christmas lights with cheesy smiles on our faces. It says Joy, Joy, Joy on the front cover, and on the inside, it says: Wishing you a bright and cheery Christmas, from our family to yours. Love April, Jackson and Everly Paige.

“We’re totally gonna send them one,” he says.

“Jackson…” I say, watching him as he looks for a pen.

“What?” he says. “They can’t hurt you like this. They can look at it and hate themselves for what they’re missing out on, without you even having to be a part of it.”

I start to warm up to the idea, nodding slowly as I make eye contact with him. “Okay, I kinda like it,” I admit.

“I thought so. So what do you wanna say?” he asks.

I giggle and shrug. “I have no idea.”

“How about this,” he says, and speaks out loud what he’s writing. “Dear Mom and Dad, fuck you. And you too, Kimmie.”

“Jackson...”

“Am I wrong?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

I sidle up to him and stroke the wrist of his arm that’s holding Everly, seeing that he actually did write what he said. “No...but you’re horrible.”

He signs the card for all three of us and slips it inside an envelope. He closes it, then extends his arm out towards me. “Kiss it,” he says, and I roll my eyes as I press my lips to the seal.

“That feels really good,” I say. “It’s so bad, but…”

“If something feels this good, it can’t be bad, right?” he asks, and plops Everly down in her high chair with a kiss to the top of her head. “Said it yourself.”

I don’t know if we’ll end up actually putting that in the mail or not - it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I’m fulfilled with the life I have now - the life we’ve created for ourselves, and I don’t need the approval of anyone else.


	17. Outtake #2

Every bone in my body is sore. I’m so tired that I fell deeply asleep on the train on my way home, but luckily no one bothered me. I woke up a stop before the one I get off at, but I still don’t feel completely awake. 

Being a surgical resident drains the life out of me, even though I love it. I’ve definitely found my passion, but nothing sounds better right now than going home and being with my family. I find a smile sneaking onto my face as I picture April’s smile and imagine Everly’s excited squeal as I walk through the door. 

Everly is five now and in kindergarten. She’s grown into a personality that matches her mother’s and a quick wit that matches mine, with sparkling green eyes that she gets from the both of us. I always say she looks more like April, though. That beauty had to come from somewhere. 

When I turn a corner on the sidewalk and see our house in the distance, my relief is palpable. The sun is just beginning to set, but I can see lights on inside which means they’re home. 

I drag my feet up the front stairs and rub my eyes, feeling the strain on my body from the long, hard day. I’m so glad I don’t have to go back tomorrow, a Sunday, because the last thing I want to do is see my coworkers’ faces. Or my attendings’, for that matter. We lost a patient today and, even though I was told countless times that it wasn’t my fault, it still feels like it was. That guilt is still riding me, sitting heavy on my shoulders. 

What I need right now is to forget about it. I just need to see my girls’ faces. 

I turn the key in the lock and feel instantly comforted by the atmosphere of home. I’m here a little early, too, which I’m grateful for. Usually when I get home on Saturday nights, Everly is already in bed. 

I spot the two of them at the dining room table, Everly on a very pregnant April’s lap as they sit in front of the Mac, concentrated on something. When I come through the door, they both look up and I wait for smiles, but instead I get protests. 

“Daddy, no!” Everly shrieks. “You’re not supposed to be home yet, you’re early! You’re not supposed to be home yet!” 

My excitement deflates as I look at the defiance painted over her little face, pushing me back towards the door that I had just come through. 

Awesome, even my kid - who I had been so excited to love on - doesn’t even want to see me. My long and shitty day just got shittier, somehow. I didn’t know it was possible. 

April stands with a degree of difficulty, pushing herself up with help from the tabletop. She waddles over to me, her weight set back on her heels, and looks at me with gentle eyes. 

“Can you just wait in the kitchen for a sec?” she asks, hands holding my wrists. 

“Why?” I ask, admittedly a bit snappily. 

“Just because,” she says. “It’s a surprise.”

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” Everly pipes up, back in her chair in front of the computer. 

“What are you guys working on?” I ask. 

“You can’t tell him, mommy,” our little girl says. 

I make eye contact with April, but she shakes her head. “Sorry, can’t tell you,” she says, then pushes me towards the kitchen. “Just give us a few minutes. We’re almost done.” 

I let out a long sigh and trudge into the kitchen, using my time in here to eat anything I can get my hands on. I’m so hungry after today, so what food I grab doesn’t really matter. I can’t hear April and Everly talking over the crunch of the crackers in my mouth, so I deem it a good choice. I lean against the counter, take my coat off and sling it over a chair, then yawn widely. 

A few moments later, a very indignant Everly appears in the kitchen doorway. I look at her outfit - faded jeans that are a little too big at the waist, a long-sleeved shirt with striped sleeves and a sparkly star on the belly, wild and free curls. And as usual, she’s barefoot. 

“Okay, daddy,” she says, hands planted on her hips. “You can come in now.” 

I pad into the dining room in my socks and lean forward with my hands on the table, eyebrows raised at the two of them. “So what’s this top-secret mission that I was banished from?” I ask. 

April turns the laptop and I see that Spotify is pulled up to a playlist called ‘For Daddy, Love Evvie.’

“I made you music, daddy!” she cheers proudly, bouncing up and down beside where April is sitting. 

I look to my daughter with a grin plastered on my face. She has her hands clasped together under her chin, a move just like her mother, as she looks at me excitedly. I swoop her up and she squeals as I wrap her in a big hug, swaying her body from side to side. 

“You did?’ I say. “Is that why you were being so secretive?” 

“We didn’t want you to see yet! Before it was done!” she giggles. 

April adjusts the way she’s sitting so one arm rests on the back of the chair. “She woke me up right after you left this morning, asking me to help her,” she says. “We’ve been working on it all day, trying to make it perfect. You know how much she loves the ones you make for me, and she wanted to make one for you.” 

I look at Everly’s face just inches from my own and smile at her again. “You are so thoughtful, nugget. Thank you. I love it.” 

She wraps her wiry arms around my neck and squeezes as tight as she can. When she lets go, she hops down, presses play and the first song - My House by Flo Rida - sounds through the speakers. 

April stands again and slides her arms around my waist, pressing her body as close as she can to mine with her belly in the way. I smirk at her and caress her bangs out of her eyes, then kiss her forehead. “She’s so thoughtful,” I repeat. 

“Well,” she says, hands slipping underneath my t-shirt to rest on the bare skin of my back. “I guess she takes after you. You know. A little, tiny bit.” 

I chuckle and kiss her softly on the lips, holding the side of her face as our daughter dances. 

After My House ends, the beat slows down and changes as Let’s Stay Together by Al Green plays. I catch April’s eyes and hers glint with the memory I know must be playing through her head too. 

The first time we heard this song was the night after she gave her virginity to me while she was still in high school. It was the morning after, and it had been perfect. We were freshly showered, and she was dressed in one of my t-shirts and a pair of her underwear, nothing else. We had danced in the kitchen. Up until that point, I’d never experienced happiness quite like that. 

But now, picking my daughter up to hold her on my hip with one arm, and using the other to wrap around April’s waist, I can’t say that anymore. 

April holds me around the hips and rests her other hand on Everly’s arm, and we both sing to her as the song plays. She tucks her chin to her chest, unbearably happy from the attention, and sways along with us to the song that grew to be the soundtrack of our love story. 

But now it’s not just a two-person love story, it’s for three. 

Soon to be four. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> link for "To Daddy, Love Evvie" playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1253167892/playlist/6m7wkyLxX56H7j30ydSlUH


	18. Outtake #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble requested on Tumblr!!

NOVEMBER 2016

I wake up and the house is silent, which is the first giveaway that something is off. I’m alone in mine and Jackson’s bed, and his side is all made up. It’s early still; I know he hasn't left yet, because my alarm hasn't even gone off.

Scratching my head, I climb out of bed and stand in the doorway, listening for any sound whatsoever. My ears pick up traces of it from the kitchen - soft voices and giggling that sounds like it's coming from Jackson. If that deep of a giggle is coming from Everly, I need to be much more worried.

“What’s going on down there?” I call out. “Are you two up to something?”

“No!” Jackson calls back. “Just woke up a little early, that's all. I got Evvie dressed for daycare. So hurry up, Mama.”

I roll my eyes at him, heading off to the shower. I get ready and go downstairs when I’m finished, finding Jackson and Everly on the couch, parked in front of Baby Einsteins on the TV.

“Morning, you two,” I say, then notice the blue that the baby is wearing. A blue onesie with a red C in the middle. “What the hell, Jackson, have you lost your damn mind?!”

A huge smile breaks onto his face. “What’s up?” he asks. “It’s World Series day. My baby’s a Cubs fan.” He raises her little fists and makes her cheer. “Go Cubs go! Go Cubs go! Goooooo Cubbies!”

I shake my head and fight a grin. “No,” I say. “Nope, absolutely not. She’s not wearing that today.” I rifle through the diaper bag hanging on the stair banister, knowing what I’ll find. I pull out a white onesie with the Indians logo on the front and hold it up. “I had this in her bag for today. _My_ baby is an Indians fan. My family is from Ohio.” 

“And my family’s from here,” he says, picking Everly up. He faces her forward, resting her little butt on his forearm. She chews on her fist, not a care in the world. “We’re Cubbies fans.” 

I take the baby from him. “Not this time,” I say. I lift her into the air and flash her an open-mouthed grin, which makes her shriek with laughter. “Who’s an Indians fan? Huh? You are! Are the Indians gonna win tonight?” I move her to my hip and look at Jackson. “She says yes.”

“Then I’d have to say both of you are wrong,” he says. “It’s been 108 years too long. The Cubbies have it coming.”

“Why’d it take them so long, then?” I ask, knowing how to rile him up.

“It wasn't the right time,” he says. “Leave them alone. They got this.”

“Sure, sure,” I say, and change Everly into the onesie I want her in. “How about we make a bet. Indians win, I get to do whatever I want to you. Cubs win, same goes for you.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” he says.

“I guarantee you I won’t,” I say, handing the baby back. “Anyway, she’s ready, Daddy. Have a good day at daycare, little bittle!” I say, kissing her cheeks.

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Try not to get slaughtered on the streets for liking the Indians,” he says. “I’ll probably get beat up for even being seen with her.” He gestures at Everly, who reaches out and puts her spitty hand on his cheek, over his beard. 

“Enough out of you,” I say. “See you tonight.”

“Remember, you gotta pick her up,” he says. “I have a round in the skills lab. But,” he says pointedly. “I’ll be home for the game.”

“Better be,” I say. “Okay. I won’t forget.”

~~~~

The day goes by quickly with plenty of hype about the World Series tonight. Before I know it, it’s time to go pick up Everly from the hospital daycare, and I look forward to seeing her little face my entire ride to the hospital.

When I get there, I look for that little white onesie but I don’t spot it. Instead, I see my daughter’s fuzzy curls atop the blue onesie that I took her out of this morning as she sits in a bouncy seat, squealing away.

I shake my head and start laughing under my breath as I walk over to her.

“Hey, April,” one of the caregivers says. “Coming to pick up your little Cubbies fan?”

I lift Everly out of the bouncy seat. “I’m here to pick up my little _Indians_ fan,” I say. “Mr. Daddy switched our outfit this morning, didn't he, Evvie? Uh-huh. He’s very naughty and he's going to be hearing from us very soon.”

When I walk through the parking lot, I feel my phone buzz with a voicemail. It didn't ring inside the hospital because it never does - there's horrible service in there. I pull it out and see that it’s from Jackson, so I listen to it. 

“Hey, Chicago, what do you say? The Cubs are gonna win today!” he chants, over and over again. 

“Your daddy,” I say to Everly as I buckle her in her car seat. “Is a nuisance.” 

We keep Everly awake for the game, compromising by keeping her in the Cubs onesie, but putting an Indians beanie on her little head. The game is intense, full of swearing from both of us with equal amount of cheers, until it comes right down to it.

The Cubs win the World Series for the first time in 108 years.

Jackson leaps off the couch, hooping and hollering. “Someday is today, someday is today!” he chants, pumping his fists as he recites the Cubs’ tagline. “Hey, Chicago… no. Hey, Evvie, what do you say?” he sings, lifting her off the couch and into the air. “The Cubbies went and won today!”

I grumble nonsense under my breath, sitting on the couch with my arms crossed. He comes up behind me, baby in tow, and whispers in my ear: “And now I get to do whatever I want to you.”


	19. Outtake #4

**JACKSON**

I laugh over April’s shoulder as she sits on the couch in front of the TV, arms crossed and pouting over the Cubs’ victory on the screen. 

“Did you hear me?” I ask, moving Everly’s leg to gently kick her mother’s head. “Now, I can do whatever I want to you.” 

“I take that back,” she says, pushing herself further into the couch cushions. “I rescind my offer.” 

“Sorry, can’t,” I say. “We made a deal.” 

“The game was rigged,” she says, grumbling. 

“Oh, Evvie,” I say, walking around to the front of the couch with the baby. She’s currently chewing on her fist and getting her arm soaking wet with saliva, but I tell myself that she’s listening to me. “Your mama is the sorest loser on the planet. Let’s hope she doesn’t pass that down to you.” 

April eyes me, but doesn’t say a word. She knows I’m trying to get a rise out of her. 

“And she’s just so stubborn, Evvie,” I say, my lips moving against the baby’s chubby cheeks. I look at April as I talk, and Everly is finding this extremely amusing. She squeals and claps her hands together, kicking her legs straight out. “Even more stubborn than me. Like when we first met, she got me to bust my ass on schoolwork that I  _ hated _ . That’s how stubborn she is.” 

“Don’t say ‘ass’ to her,” April says, her voice still low. 

“Mama’s  _ so _ mad,” I say, in a pretend-angry voice. “Grrrr. She’s so mad because her team lost, and Daddy is right for once in his entire existence.” 

“Jackson,” she whines, going limp with her arms out to her sides. “Stop. Shut up.” 

I giggle and hitch Everly up higher. “You better find your way upstairs, Apricot sore loser Indians fan,” I say. 

She pushes herself up from the couch, and I can see that she’s fighting a smile. “Stop making fun of me,” she says. “I’m mad.” 

“I know,” I say. “You’re _so_ mad.”  

“I am.” 

“But one day,” I say. “We’re gonna tell Evvie about this night where our Cubs won the World Series after 108 years-” 

“I know the reason why it took them so damn long,” April says. “Because they su-” 

“And we’re gonna tell her about the bet that we had, and the great sex that came after,” I finish. 

“Jackson!” April exclaims, smacking my shoulder as I laugh. “We are not gonna tell her about that. You’re disgusting.” 

I can’t stop giggling about it as I lead the way upstairs. “You wanna put her to bed, or me?” I ask. 

She sighs and reaches her arms out when we get to the top of the steps. “I will.” 

“Okay,” I say, then kiss the side of our baby’s face. “Night, Munchie. I’ll see you in the morning. Remember, our Cubbies won!” 

April swoops Everly away with a light scowl on her face. “Don’t give her nightmares,” she says. 

“Oh, shut up,” I say. “Meet me in our room in a few.” 

We walk our separate ways and the sound of April talking to the baby fades away as I shut the door to our bedroom. I go into our shared closet and rifle through my t-shirts until I find what I’m looking for - my bright blue Cubs one with the logo in the middle - and put on my matching boxer shorts along with it. 

April comes in the room a few moments later, sighing and muttering to herself. “Jackson,” she calls out. “Where are you?” 

I walk out of the closet and, with the lights dimmed, see that she's digging in her dresser drawer for pajamas to put on. “I don’t think so,” I say, walking up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. 

“What?” she says, turning around. She sees my apparel and her face instantly transforms into a caricature frown. “Oh, no,” she says, pushing me backwards. “You’re not wearing that to bed. No freaking way.” 

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m not.” 

She nods affirmatively. “Yes. You heard me. Take. It. Off.” 

I comply and pull the shirt off over my head, which still leaves me in the Cubs boxers. April faces away from me, topless as she tries to find a pajama top, and I take the opportunity to shove the one I just had on over her head and onto her body. 

“Hey!” she exclaims, wiggling. “No! No way!” 

“Yes way,” I say, pulling her arms through the arm holes. “The Cubs won, and I make the rules. You’re wearing this.” 

She turns to face me, dwarfed by the shirt and wearing only her black underwear besides it. “I hate you,” she says. “My Ohio blood is boiling.” 

“Oh, shut up about your Ohio blood,” I say. “You weren't even born there, you grew up here! Time to relocate that blood to Chicago.” 

She says something that I can’t quite hear and trudges to the bed, crawling in after tying her auburn hair up in a messy bun. I get in after her, finding her warm body instantly under the covers so I can kiss her neck. 

“Don’t try and get on my good side,” she says, but I can hear that her voice has softened. “Jackson…” 

“Even Indians fans like neck kisses,” I say, slipping my hand inside the oversized shirt to rest on her belly. “And even sore losers do, too.” 

She giggles and braces her hands on my shoulders, trailing her fingers down my biceps after a moment. “Want me to give you head? You won the damn bet,” she says. “Is that what you want out of it?” 

I smile to myself. “Not really,” I say. “I mean, it's not what I was thinking… but I wouldn't turn it down.” 

“What  _ were  _ you thinking, then?” she asks, lifting the Cubs shirt up to just below her breasts, tempting me. “You wanna get handsy with me?” 

I roll my eyes. “Give me a little more credit than that,” I say. “I’m not a horny teenager.” 

“Says you,” she shoots back, smirking. 

“No,” I say, slinking down her body. “You lost, so you deserve to feel good about _some_ thing. I’m nice, so I’ll help you out.” 

She rolls her eyes and moves to lay flat on her back, taking her weight off the one hip she’d been resting on. “You're so charitable,” she says. 

“Well, I try,” I say, and we both laugh. 

I trace the band of her underwear along her hips and between her legs, gently with my pointer finger. She lets a long, soothing breath out of her nose and strokes the back of my head where it's resting on her thigh, and I love the way her hands feel.

I keep her underwear on when I kiss her body. She lifts her butt up, asking me without words to take them off, but I don’t do it. I press my lips to the soft fabric and pull it between my teeth, letting it snap back to her skin when I let go. 

“I know what you're doing…” she says. 

“What.” 

“Punishing me,” she replies, holding my skull in her hands tightly. “You're not very nice.” 

“I’m the definition of nice,” I say, moving my fingers over her. “And you're the definition of wet. You soaked right through.” 

“Jackson,” she warns, then rolls her eyes. “It’s your fault, anyway.” She strokes my hair back, then lifts the Cubs shirt above her breasts without removing it all the way. “Do something about it.” 

I lick my lips and push myself up to her chest, covering as much of her breast as I can with my mouth. She giggles lightly, then moans with her lips pressed together as my hand skims down her soft stomach and my fingers disappear into the front of her damp underwear. 

“Finally,” she murmurs, spreading her thighs for me. 

I don't push inside her though. Instead, I stroke her outer lips and cover her with my hand, which makes her pelvis rock against my palm. 

“Remember in your old room, a few nights before your senior prom?” I ask, my face tucked into her neck again. She doesn't really like talking about her old life, because inevitably her family will come up. But sometimes, I can’t help but relive memories of us. “We hadn't slept together yet-” 

“On prom night,” she says. “That’s when we did it.” 

“Of course,” I say. “Who could forget? You got so freaked when I was gonna eat you out that you smacked your head on the headboard.” 

She groans and covers her face with one hand. “God…” she trails off. “I was a mess.” 

“Anyway, like I was saying,” I continue, my hand still inside her underwear. “You wanted me so bad, babe, and-” 

“I’m gonna kill you,” she says. 

I can’t stop laughing. “You put my hand inside your skirt and wanted me to rub you over your tights. You had _such_ a boner for me.”  

“As if you didn't have one for me!” she shrieks playfully. “You had a crush on me from the moment you saw me.” 

“Okay, but at least I didn't want jump your bones.” 

“I barely knew what sex was,” I say. “I didn't want to jump your stupid bones.” She clenches my hand tight between her thighs. “But I really want you to go down on me right now, and stop all your freaking talking.” 

I smirk deviously. “If you want that, you better say it.” 

“I just did,” she says.

I shake my head. “No, not say that you want it. Say  _ it _ . Say that the Cubs won and they're better than the Indians.” 

She pinches her lips with a headstrong expression. “No,” she says firmly.

“No head for you then, I guess,” I say, shrugging and pulling my hand free. “Sad. I know how much you wanted it.” 

“Jackson Michael Avery,” she says.

“Ooh, the middle name,” I say, my voice tilting upwards. 

“I mean it!” she insists.

“If you want me so bad, you have to say it,” I say. “I’m not giving into you, Apricot sore loser Mary Kepner.” 

She lets out a long, irritated sigh, and lets a few moments go by. “The Cubs won,” she finally mutters. 

“And?” I prompt. 

“And what?” she snaps. I egg her on with my eyebrows and she rolls her eyes. “And they're better than the Indians,” she finally grumbles. 

“And?” 

“There wasn’t anything else!” she says.

“ _ And _ you're a sore loser,” I say, lowering my body down to rest my head between her legs. Once again, that damp patch on her underwear is visible. 

“Fine, and I’m a sore loser. Can you just do it now?!” 

I don't make her wait any longer. I pull her underwear off and press my open mouth against her hot center, and make her come in only a few minutes. Finally, she gets what she was waiting for. 

As she's panting and coming down from her orgasm, I crawl back up to face-level and adjust her shirt so the logo is fully visible. 

“You're amazing,” she says, framing my face with one hand. “But tomorrow, it goes back to me making the rules.” 


	20. Outtake #5 - Summers

**APRIL - PAST**

I’m standing in the bathroom as the light shines in from the shower window, grimacing at my reflection, when I hear a knock on the door. 

“Did you fall in?” Jackson asks. 

I glance at the door with worried eyes, then back to the mirror. “I’m not coming out,” I say. 

“What?” he says, laughing. He jiggles the door handle, but I locked it. “April, what’s going on in there?” 

I uncross my arms from my chest and frown at myself. “First of all, you’re forcing me to go to the pool when you know I hate swimming,” I say. 

“Well, you can’t swim,” he says. 

“I hate swimming,” I repeat. 

“The only water you’ve been swimming in is holy water,” he quips. 

“So I don’t even wanna go to this pool, then I have to wear  _ this _ ,” I continue. 

“What, the bathing suit?” he says. “That  _ you _ picked out? Yourself? At Old Navy?” 

I frown again as I study it. It’s a bikini with a ruffle top, black with floral details. In the store, I hadn’t tried it on and liked it because it seemed more conservative than all the other options. And now, actually wearing it, I see that that’s definitely not the case. I’ve never been this exposed in my life except in front of Jackson, and now he expects me to go and make a fool of myself at a public pool. 

“Well, I didn’t know,” I say, grumbling. 

“Let me see,” he says.

“No!” I counter back quickly.

“April,” he says, and I can hear his eyeroll. “I see you naked like, every day.” I’m quiet, narrowing my eyes at my own face even though I mean it towards him. “Open up. Come on. Please?” 

I let a huffy sigh out of my nose and unlock the door, and he opens it a few seconds later. I stand there with my shoulders tense and a pout on my face, and he raises his eyebrows. 

“See, it’s horrible,” I say.

He blinks hard. “Horrible?” he says. “Are you on crack? Are you high on something?” He holds me by the upper arms and lets his eyes graze over my body. “Because whatever you’re high on, I don’t want any of it. You look amazing in this.” 

I pinch my lips. “You’re just saying that.” 

He stands behind me and meets my eyes in the mirror, wrapping his arms around my bare waist to rest his chin on my shoulder. “No, I’m not,” he says. 

I sigh and think of anything I can say to get out of this. “Aren’t you gonna say the classic male line of, ‘you should wear a one piece, I don’t want all those other guys looking at you’?” I ask. 

Crinkles appear on his forehead. “Uh, no,” he says. “Saying shit like that is for insecure dickheads.” 

I snort and push back against him. “Fine,” I say. “But I’m bringing a coverup.” 

“Not gonna be easy to wear in the water,” he says, walking out of the bathroom as I follow behind him.

“Who says I’m getting in?” I retort, digging through our shared dresser to find my black coverup. 

He hurries over to me as he was in the middle of changing, with just his jeans on and nothing else. “Me,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and tossing me on the bed. 

I squeal and make an ‘oomph’ sound when his body lands on top of mine, but hold him around his shoulders anyway. “You’re not the boss of me,” I say, craning my neck to touch the tip of my nose to his. “I’m the boss of  _ you _ .” 

“My truth-telling woman,” he says, angling his lips against mine with his mouth open. 

I let my eyes flutter closed as he pulls on my bottom lip and worries it gently with his teeth, and hold the back of his neck to keep him close. I feel his hands on my bare belly, making their way around to the small of my back before snapping the waistband of my black bikini bottoms. 

I shove my hips against his and feel him smile against my mouth, and one hand sneaks up my back so his fingers can slip under the back band of my top. He slides them around to the front and hitches it up, exposing one of my breasts, and covers it with his hand before I even have a chance to react. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” I say, pulling away from the kiss. 

“What?” he says, seemingly innocent. He keeps eye contact for a moment before bending his neck and pressing sly kisses my jaw, my neck, and finally, around the outline of my nipple. 

“No…” I say, scooting up on the mattress so his head is level with my stomach instead of my chest. I pull my top back down to cover myself and give him a warning look. “We’re supposed to be going to the pool.”

He gives me a wide-eyed look. “I thought you didn’t wanna go,” he says. “I was just trying to make you happy.” 

I shove him off me and he falls on his side, giggling. “You just wanna get in my pants,” I say, kicking my way to stand up again. 

“Again, my truth-telling woman,” he says, lying there on our bed, shirtless with his arms thrown above him. 

I nudge his shin. “Get up, lazy.” 

“Oh, now she wants to go,” he murmurs under his breath. “Fine, fine, I’m coming.” 

When we get to the pool, there’s a decent amount of people there but it’s not overcrowded. I have my arms wrapped around myself and my shoulders hunched to my ears, following behind Jackson as he warmly greets the lifeguards by the gate.

“Babe,” he throws over his shoulder with a smile. “Are you coming?” 

“I’m right behind you,” I mutter, watching him pick up two lounge chairs at once and set them side by side. I lay my towel across one of them and sit down on it with one knee bent in front of me, shoulders slumped as I look at the sparkling blue water of the pool. 

The sun is beaming hot onto my back, but the water doesn’t look tempting. When I was little, we weren’t allowed to swim for fun because my mom deemed bathings suits of any kind ‘too revealing.’ So I never really learned how. And once Jackson found that out, he dragged me here. 

“Oh no, no sitting,” he says, standing over me and blocking the sun. I squint up at him. “We’re getting in.” 

I glower. “I can’t swim,” I grumble. 

“I know,” he says, outstretching his hand. “We’re gonna fix that.” 

I let out a long sigh and stand up without taking his hand. 

“Ooh, ouch,” he says. “Won’t even hold my hand.”

“I don’t like you right now,” I mutter. 

He chuckles. “I’m preemptively saving your life,” he says. “What would happen if you were stranded and you couldn’t swim? You’d drown and die. And no one wants to live in a world without Apricot Kepner in it.” 

I snort. “Yeah, you’d be the only one who’d miss me.” 

He rolls his eyes and skims his hands down my shoulders. “Not true,” he says. “And either way, isn’t that enough?” 

I shove his chest. “Nowhere near.” 

“You’re hell-bent on offending me today, aren’t you?” he laughs, tugging on the sleeves of my coverup. “You can’t swim with this on, you know.”

“I know,” I retort. “I’m getting there. Stop rushing me.” 

He stands to the side and glances around the pool area with his weight cocked to one hip and his arms crossed over his chest, purposefully not looking at me as I work my way out of my coverup. Once it’s off, I toss it on the lounge chair and stand there in front of him in all my pale glory.

“You need sunscreen,” he says, digging around in our bag. 

I huff. “I know, I know. I’m white as a sheet. I don’t wanna hear-” 

“Shush,” he says, slathering it between his palms. “You know how much I love your skin.” I can’t help the little smirk that finds my lips. “Deep breath in. This is gonna be cold.” 

I do as he says but still gasp as he rubs the sunscreen in on my back, shoulders, arms and chest. When he gets to my face, he puts it on with one finger and dabs some on the end of my nose, which makes me scrunch up my face and smile at him. 

I return the favor and slowly make my way to the water, taking his hand once we get close enough. 

“I’m gonna drown,” I say quietly. 

“April, this water’s three feet deep,” Jackson says, hopping in. It only goes up to his waist, but I still stand on the edge, knees pressed together while wringing my hands. He looks up at me, the look in his eyes turning amused as he walks over to the ladder. “Here, come down this way. You don’t have to jump. Come on, come down the ladder.” 

I grip the metal railings and step one foot down, but he shakes his head. “No, no, no, you can’t come forward. You’re gonna slip.” He makes a circular gesture with one hand. “Flip around.” 

I grumble under my breath and follow his suggestion, feeling his soft grip on either of my hips as I descend into the water. As my feet submerge, he pats my butt a couple times and giggles to himself. 

“Hey,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “Watch yourself.” 

“What, you expect me to resist smacking this cute little ass?” 

“Jackson!” I exclaim, smacking the railing and hearing a tinny reverberating sound because of it. 

“April!” he says, copying my tone before he starts laughing. “Come on, baby. Get in the water.” 

“I’m trying,” I grouch. “It’s cold.” 

He holds my hips again as I finally lower myself all the way in. I keep my arms above the surface, raised so they won’t touch the cold water, as goosebumps appear all over my skin. “This is freezing!” I say, feeling my jaw tighten. “How is this enjoyable at all?” 

He dives forward, going under and coming back up in one fluid motion. When he stands again, he shakes the water from his head and spits some out of his mouth, then says, “You get used to it,” he says. “It’s nice.” 

I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze tight. “Doubtful,” I say.

“Want me to dunk you?” he says playfully, swimming up close to me as we walk a little deeper.

“No!” I shriek. “Do not touch me.” 

He swims in a circle and smiles up at me with his head near my waist. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.” 

I splash a little water at him, and he giggles loudly. “Shut up,” I say. The water is up to my ribcage now, and I’m starting to get more used to it, but I won’t admit that to him. “You’re not getting sex for a week because of this.” 

“Such a liar,” he says, snapping the waistband of my bikini bottoms under the water. “ _ Such _ a liar.” 

I shove his shoulder because I know he’s right. 

He eventually gets me past the barrier in the middle of the pool and right on the edge of the deep end, although it takes a long time and a lot of persuading. But after I’ve gotten decently okay at the doggy paddle, he wants me to try going a little deeper to challenge myself. 

“It’s kinda funny,” he says, glancing over at me as I bounce from foot to foot. 

“What is?” I ask. 

He snickers. “You’ve been doing doggy style longer than you’ve been doing the doggy paddle,” he says, shaking his head with laughter. 

I screw up my face and try to keep the smile off of it, but I can’t. I shove his waist and he takes a few stumbling steps to the side, but he can’t stop laughing.

“I hate you,” I say. “I really do.” 

“Uh-huh,” he says, then waves me on. “Come on, let’s go. You can hold onto the wall if you want.” 

I cling to the wall as we pass the part where I can still touch. Jackson is swimming under the water, his body lithe and graceful like a fish, while I watch him with wide eyes and trembling, strained fingers. 

When he comes up, he looks refreshed with a smile on his face. “You really like swimming, don’t you?” I say. 

“Yeah,” he says, running his hand over his wet head. “You would, too, if you’d give it a try.” 

“I’d give it one go and sink to the bottom and die.”

He rolls his eyes and laughs. “C’mere,” he says, waving me over. 

“I’m not letting go,” I say. “I can’t touch.”

“I can,” he says, standing. “Do your little doggy paddle over to me.” 

“No!” 

“Can you trust me for like, one second of your life?” he says. “I’m gonna catch you, and I’m gonna hold you. And I’m gonna help you.” 

I let out a huffy breath, then push myself away from the wall with a hard kick. I launch into his arms and he catches me, holding me easily in the water that is too deep for me.

“See?” he says, swiping a piece of my hair off of my forehead. “I got you.”

He adjusts my body, wrapping an arm around my hips and resting a flat hand on my belly. “Okay,” I say, breathing easier. “Okay.” 

“Wanna try and float?” he asks. “You’ll like it.” 

I give him a wary look and he chuckles. 

“Here,” he says, turning me. “Lay on your back and relax.” 

“I’m gonna sink!” 

“Shh, stop,” he says. “If you tense up, yeah, you will. But if you just… relax your muscles, spread your arms out, legs too…” I feel his hand at the small of my back. “I got you. I’m not letting go.” 

I close my eyes and try to follow his directions, and find myself on my back in the water, staring up at the crystal blue sky. I smile a little bit and can practically feel his satisfaction beside me. 

“I’m doing it,” I say, happy with myself. “I’m floating!” 

“Guess I’m just the king of helping you experience things for the first time,” he says, one hand sneaking onto my belly and tracing the waist of my bathing suit bottoms.

“Shut up,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “I told you. I was just never allowed to be in a bathing suit when I was younger. No bathing suit, no water.” 

“Oh, god,” he says. “I really am corrupting you.”

“I really hate you,” I say, smirking. 

“Well, I  _ could _ just leave you… floating here… alone,” he says sneakily, that hand on the small of my back threatening to move away. 

“No, no, stay!” I say, a little panicky. “Yeah, sure, whatever! You’re corrupting me, whatever you say, just do  _ not _ take that hand away.” 

He laughs to himself and solidifies it where it rests. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**PRESENT**

As I get into my bathing suit, the bedroom door is open and I can hear Jackson talking to Everly as he brings her down the hallway. 

“I think your suity is in Mommy and Daddy’s room,” he says, using the voice he saves especially for her. “Am I right? Let’s ask her. Mommy, where’s Evvie’s suit?” 

Facing the other way, I say, “Closet. Top pull-out drawer.” 

“Let’s go check,” Jackson says. 

“You have her in a swim diaper?” I call out, loud enough so he’ll be able to hear me. 

“Way ahead of you,” he answers back, walking back out with the baby on his hip, also carrying her pink-and-white bathing suit with the watermelon on the chest and green ruffles on the leg. 

“Your very first time swimming, my baby!” I say in baby talk, running the back of my pointer finger down her cheek. She’s 15 months old, and Jackson has been dying to take her to a pool. Her first trip is admittedly a little later than when most parents take their babies, but I’ve never been the biggest fan of water. 

Jackson had convinced me, though. He said that she’s not gonna end up like her mommy, who only let someone dunk her under the water one time - when she was being baptized. 

I agreed with him. I don’t want Everly to be skittish of water like I am, so we’re taking her. 

“She told me she’s excited,” Jackson says. 

Everly smiles. “No!” she squeals, which is her favorite word right now. 

I crack up and Jackson does, too. Then, he looks down at my swimsuit and sees that I’m wearing just my old, navy blue one piece. He scrunches up his eyebrows and gives me a look, so I say, “What?” 

“This one, seriously?” he says. “It’s ancient. And you got that new bikini forever ago… are you ever gonna wear it?”

I think about the dark purple triangle bikini that’s sitting in a nice little folded pile in the closet, tags still on. I bought it before Everly was born but never got around to wearing it, and now I don’t even know what it’ll look like on me. My body isn’t quite the same as it was pre-baby. 

“I don’t know,” I say, a bit self-consciously. 

Jackson sits the baby on the bed and pulls her shirt off, then gets her swimsuit on over her swim diaper. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

I shrug, one hand on my stomach. He follows the subconscious gesture and raises his eyebrows as he pulls the baby’s arms through her bathing suit straps. “Are you freaking out about your body?” he asks. 

It probably wasn’t hard to figure out. Sometimes, when we have sex - which is still a lot - it comes up. He sees me as sexier than ever, which is something he never fails to tell me. But I see myself as a little looser, with less muscle tone, having more of a mom body than anything.

“You’re hot, babe,” he says, picking Everly back up after her swimsuit is on. He takes a couple steps towards me and kisses me, holding my jaw with his free hand. “You’re always gonna be hot.” 

“You have to say that,” I say, smiling. 

“I say it because I mean it,” he says. “I’m obsessed with you and that body. You know this. It’s been like this for so many damn years, you have me so whipped. It’s pretty sick.” 

I start giggling, shoving him away by his chest before pulling him closer by the waist. “You are such a goof,” I say, kissing Everly on her forehead before kissing Jackson on the lips. “But fine. I’ll try it on.” 

I stare at myself in the mirror once the bikini is on. I turn to the side, skimming my hands down my belly and my back, seeing imperfections that I’m sure are invisible to everyone else. I sigh, chew on my lower lip, and peek out to see him packing the swim bag while Everly chews on a water ring. 

“Come look,” I say. “I need a second opinion.” 

He picks Evvie up, puts her in baby jail - which is the empty bathtub - and follows my voice.

“Is it bad?” I ask, lowering my arms. 

His eyes drink in the sight of me as they skim over my body, and I know the look in his eyes all too well. “Bad?” he echoes, shaking his head slightly. “No fucking way. God, get over here.” 

He pulls me closer by the waist and kisses me, opening his mouth against mine before lowering it to my neck. I feel his fingers on the tie around my back, playing with the double knot, and he’s just about to untie it when we hear an insistent, “Mama mama mama mama mama!” from Everly, who’s dying to get out of baby jail. 

Jackson pulls away from me, his pupils crazy dilated. “Right,” he says breathlessly. His eyes skim me one more time. “Needless to say, you have to wear this. You look sexy, Apricot.” 

He starts to walk in the direction of the baby, but I gently push him out of the way. “I believe she was calling for  _ me _ , daddy,” I say, picking up my coverup on the way there. 

I keep the bikini on. 

When we get to the pool, Everly is kicking her arms and legs and soon as she sees all the sparkling blue water. I set our stuff down and get out the sunscreen, slathering it on her until it will barely rub into her skin anymore, and put it on Jackson, too, through his protests. 

“Daddy thinks he’s stronger than the sun,” I tell my daughter, who’s standing next to my legs with one hand on my knee. “Can you believe that? Stronger than the sun.” I smack him on the shoulder blade and Everly starts to toddle away on her chubby legs. “Ah, ah! No, Evvie!” I call out, dropping the sunscreen bottle and hurrying after her. I swoop her up in my arms, faced forward, and say into her ear. “Not yet, little water bug.” I make eye contact with Jackson as he picks up the bottle I dropped. “Looks like someone takes after her daddy.” 

He snorts and starts rubbing sunscreen onto me as the baby wriggles like a caught fish in my arms. We get her floaties on and go to the pool, and I hand her over to Jackson after he’s in the water. He dunks her legs in and she squeals with happiness, splashing her arms as he lifts her up and lowers her down with animated facial expressions. 

I sit on the edge and watch them for a while, until Everly takes notice that I’m not close enough. “Mama!” she says, reaching her pudgy arms out and opening and closing her fists. “No, mama!”

Jackson raises his eyebrows. “Come on in,” he says. “The water’s nice.” 

I give him a look and Everly continues to beg for me. 

“Come on, mommy,” he says, tipping his head towards our needy baby. “We need you.” 

“Okay, okay,” I say, standing up and pulling my coverup off over my head quickly. I feel exposed as soon as I do, but the way that Jackson’s eyes feel on my body help to take away that feeling. 

“Your mommy doesn’t look a day different than the first time I met her,” he tells the baby, who’s still reaching for me. “I’m not even kidding. I mean, of course she’s wiser and smarter and funnier and well, more well-rounded because of me, but…” 

I get in the water and he holds around my waist as Everly finds her way into my arms. 

“But what?” I ask. 

“I stopped myself,” he says, eyeing our baby. “Wasn’t exactly going to be appropriate for our offspring’s little ears.” 

I hitch the baby up higher on my hip and crane my neck, asking without words for a kiss. He knows that gesture well and gives me what I asked for, taking my bottom lip with him when he pulls away until it pops back to me. 

I smile at him, not needing to say what we both are thinking. I love him so much. And I know he loves me. 

“Ready to teach this little munchie to swim?” I say, raising my voice in baby talk. I make eye contact with Jackson and he’s already smiling. “You taught one of us,” I continue, then hand the baby over to him. “Now it’s Evvie’s turn.”

He looks at our daughter, their noses nearly touching as he smirks and she buzzes her lips. “You ready to swim, munch?” he asks. 

I touch her back and splash a little bit of water on her legs. “Show her, daddy,” I say cutely. 

“Ready?” he asks again, nodding Everly along.

She looks up at him, a wide smile breaking out on her face before shrieking, “No!” at the top of her lungs. 


	21. Outtake #6 - Lollapalooza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the photo mentioned in the epilogue, and inspiration also drawn from my experience at Lolla this past weekend! enjoy!

“Are you ready for your blessings? Are you ready for your miracle?” 

As I lay in bed with the covers pulled up to my shoulders, I hear Jackson singing in the hallway. His voice is growing, getting louder as he nears our room. 

“Are you ready for your blessings? Are you ready for your miracle?” 

Our door comes open and I shut my eyes again, pretending to be asleep. “Wake up, baby,” he says, bending in half to kiss me on the cheek, still humming the tune. 

“I never thought I’d hear you singing lyrics like those,” I say, turning my face so he’ll kiss my lips. He doesn’t disappoint.

“Chance can write anything and I’ll sing it,” Jackson says, chuckling. 

Today is August 5th, which means that we’re seeing Chance the Rapper at Lollapalooza tonight in Grant Park. 

“It’s late,” he says. “You slept in. Mark and Lexie are gonna be here soon to go downtown.” 

I roll over onto my back and stretch my arms above my head, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “What time is it?” I ask, voice squelched. 

“Past 11,” he says. 

I raise my eyebrows with surprise. 

“Yeah,” he says, answering my silent question. “I tired you out last night, didn’t I?” 

My cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “No,” I say, turning my face away. 

“I so did…” he says, crawling into bed and resting one knee on either side of my hips. 

“I thought I was supposed to be getting up,” I say, ghosting my fingertips over his neck and letting them settle on his collar. “You’re making that kinda impossible.” 

“Too bad,” he says, bending to kiss my lips first, then my jaw. “You’re too pretty for me to resist.” 

I giggle and push my fingers through his soft curls as he opens his mouth on my skin. “You must be going blind, because I’m sure right now… I just woke up! I am definitely not pretty.” 

“Save the crack-smoking for Lolla, okay?” he says, a laughing tone in his voice. “I’m gonna keep calling you pretty and beautiful and hot and sexy and everything else under the sun, and one of these days you’re gonna believe me.” 

“Sure, sure,” I say, and push on his chest. “For real. I have to get up and shower if I’m gonna be ready by the time they get here.” 

He groans and falls onto his side. “Party pooper,” he says, and I stand up and reach my arms high above my head for another stretch. With my back faced towards him, I don’t see him sneak over and tap me on the butt, so it makes a surprised little sound come out of me. 

“Hands off,” I say, swatting back and missing. 

“Want company in the shower?” he asks, standing up too and following me. 

I look at him dubiously. “You’re dressed and ready, and you smell good. You already showered.” 

“Two won’t hurt,” he says, standing in the bathroom doorway as I walk inside. “Or maybe… even better, we can take one together tonight. When we’re all sweaty and dirty…” He presses his lips together. “Mm, yeah. I vote yes on that.” 

I roll my eyes. “In or out,” I say, pulling my pajama shirt off over my head. “Because I want the door shut.” 

His eyes graze my braless chest and he comes inside, having made up his mind. He skims his hands around to capture my waist as he dips his head to the swell of my breast, sucking the skin between his teeth. 

My eyes roll back into my skull, but I force myself to push him away. “Okay, okay, okay,” I breathe. “Enough. I… the hot water’s gonna run out. I know you probably already used most of it.” 

He laughs as I turn around, and smacks my butt once more for good measure. 

When I get out of the shower, there’s an outfit laid out on the bed for the festival today. I make a face at it as I stand with a towel wrapped around my body and my hair. 

“Is this my outfit?” I ask Jackson, walking out to the living room where he’s sitting playing some video game. 

“What, babe?” he says, eyes flitting over to me as he pauses the game. 

“The clothes on our bed,” I say, pointing my thumb behind me. “Are those my Lolla clothes?” 

“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip of the water beside him. “Remember, you picked them out at...I don’t know, what’s that store? Oh yeah, Forever 21. Like, a while ago. Remember?” 

I pop my hip to one side, gripping my upper arm with my opposite hand. “I don’t remember it being so… skimpy.” 

He chuckles. “I do.” 

I sigh and furrow my eyebrows a bit. “I can’t wear it. It’s barely a shirt! What’ll it cover?” 

“Your boobs,” he says. “And I think it went like halfway down your stomach. It’s a crop top, dude. That’s what they’re made for. You’re the one who picked it out.” 

“I don’t remember it being so low-cut,” I say.

“Just go try it on,” he says. “If you don’t like it, wear something else. No big deal.” 

“You should know I don’t like this!” I call as I walk back to the bedroom, then continue to grumble to myself as I drop my towel. I find a pair of underwear to go under the incredibly short white denim shorts that I apparently once paired with this bleached blue, v-neck crop top with spaghetti straps. 

But I pull on the clothes anyway, feeling just as naked once they’re on as I did with just a towel. I brush out my wet hair to deal with later and stand in the full-length mirror, checking out my body at all different angles to see just how much is exposed.

The shorts are short.  _ Really _ short. Like if my mom saw me in them a couple years ago, she would’ve slaughtered me alive kind of short. And I was right, the top is skimpy. I can’t wear a bra with it, and my boobs don’t look bad, but they’re more on display then they’ve ever been before. Well, to everyone but Jackson. He has, of course, seen all of me.

“How is it?” he asks, and I hear the sound of him getting up from the couch. Before I can answer, our bedroom door is coming open and he’s inside, looking for me. “Damn, you look hot,” he says, giving me a once-over. “If only the junior nun version of you back in high school could see you now.” 

“Jackson!” I say, crossing my arms. “There’s no way I’m wearing this out in public. I’m practically naked.”

“You’re not  _ naked _ .” 

“I said practically.” 

His eyes drink me in as he pulls his lower lip into his mouth, and I have to admit I like the attention he’s giving me. This outfit is obviously doing something for him, which makes me feel proud. 

“I’m not forcing you to wear it,” he says. “No one is. A bunch of girls our age are gonna be in this exact same outfit, guaranteed. No need to feel weird about it, you’ll be in good company. But you know what? If you’re uncomfortable with it, you should change. For real. I don’t want you to have a bad time.” 

I stand there contemplating, watching him watch me. I’ve never been to a festival before, and I want to fit in. I don’t want to be walking around in my nerdy clothes being my nerdy old self. This is the new April. This is a good step. 

“No,” I say, giving in. “I wanna wear it.”

“You sure?” 

I nod solidly. “Yeah,” I say, then look down at myself. “It looks okay, right?” 

He smirks and walks towards me, pulling me close around the waist. “You’re fuckin’ sexy, Apricot. Way better than okay.” 

I blush and duck my chin to my chest, fingers playing at his chest. “Okay,” I say. “Let me go do my hair and makeup. We don’t wanna make Mark and Lexie wait.” 

A few minutes later, after I’ve dried my hair and am working on braiding it, the sound from the TV stops again and Jackson appears in the bathroom, leaning on the sink. 

“What’s up?” I ask, focusing on him while I pause and hold my braid in place.

“Who’s gonna be DD?” he asks. 

I scrunch up my eyebrows. “DD?” I repeat. 

“Yeah, designated driver. Well, not driver. But you know what I mean. Designated… sober person who makes sure that we don’t make huge asses of ourselves.”

I smirk at him, one corner of my lips pulling up. “Sounds like you want it to be me,” I say. 

“What?” he says. “I didn’t even say- what? No. I honestly don’t care. You wanna drink today, I’ll stay sober. No problem.” 

“Jackson,” I say, laughing and rolling my eyes playfully as I shove his chest. “I don’t wanna drink. I don’t even like alcohol that much, and being drunk in public doesn’t appeal to me. I’ll be DD.” 

He smiles and wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close to kiss the top of my head as his thank you. 

“But on one condition,” I say, craning my neck to look up at him. 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

I wrinkle my nose as I point the end of my braid at him. “You wear the fanny pack.” 

***

“Nice fanny pack, Avery,” Mark says, elbowing Jackson as we walk into Lolla. “Does it come with a tube of lip gloss and a nail file?” 

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Jackson says. 

“How’d you get roped into wearing that thing, anyway?” 

Jackson shoots me a look, his green eyes sparkling from the sunlight. “It’s called doing nice things for your girlfriend. Ever heard of it?” 

Lexie elbows Mark in the ribs, hard. “Yeah,” she says. “Ever heard of it?” 

“Who said it was okay for you pieces of shit to gang up on me?” Mark says, throwing his hands up and laughing. 

“Don’t be jealous, Mark,” I say, hanging on Jackson’s arm. “We compromised. Jackson wears the fanny pack, I’m DD.” 

“Oh, you’re babysitting him tonight?” he asks. “Kep, good luck.” 

Jackson scoffs. “Just what do you think I’m gonna do? You’ve never even seen me drunk.” 

“You came to my Christmas party, didn’t you?” Mark says.

“I’d call that tipsy,” Jackson says. “And no one told me that eggnog was spiked.” 

“I actually did try and tell you,” I pipe up.

“Well, I couldn’t taste it,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I’m a harmless drunk.” 

“He’s a lovey drunk,” I say, batting my eyelashes up at him. 

If I’m not mistaken, Jackson’s face flushes a little. 

Mark narrows his eyes. “Bro,” he says. “For real?” 

Jackson cracks up, pulling me closer and jostling my shoulders. “What!” he says. “I can’t help it. Get off my dick. Come on, let’s look at this map. I wanna go listen to some music.” 

We end up in a crowd watching a band called The Head and the Heart, which I’ve never heard of before, but I end up liking their vibe. 

“Do you like this?” Jackson asks, swigging down a beer. I think it’s his second. They’re so overpriced here, but we’ve been saving up so we wouldn’t have to penny pinch today. “Do you like this music?” 

“Yeah!” I shout over their instrumentals. “I just can’t see very well.” 

He kneels down, sets his beer on the ground, then pats his shoulders. “Come on up,” he says. 

“What? Jackson, no!” I say, giggling. 

“Why not?” he asks. 

“Uh, I’m not five?” I say. “Or five pounds, for that matter!” 

He stands up to his full height and scans the crowd. “Look around, babe,” he says. I do, and I see a handful of other girls on their boyfriends’ shoulders, so I don’t feel as weird. I won’t be out of place. “You can’t see, so I’ll make you tall.”

I sigh. “Are you sure?” 

He squats down again. “Never been surer. Now wrap those thighs around my head before I come over there.” 

I roll my eyes and brace myself with my hands on the base of his neck, swinging one leg over each of his shoulders. “Jackson,” I say, voice a little urgent. “Jackson, Jackson!” 

“What?” he says, standing. “I got you.” He grips my thighs tight in his palms and I center myself, hands on top of his head. “Just try not to pull my hair out, alright?” 

I laugh and survey our surroundings, smiling in wonder at the skyline on full display and the crowds and crowds of people filling up Grant Park. I’ve never seen anything like it. 

“Guys!” I hear Lexie’s voice down below, sounding giggly. “Picture!” 

Jackson turns, which makes my hands fly to his arms for support. Lexie poises her phone and I purse out my flips and flash two peace signs, trying to match the mood of my low braids and circular sunglasses. 

“Cute!” she says, looking at the screen. “I’ll send it to you.” 

After The Head and the Heart is done, we make our way through the park to the biggest stage, where Chance the Rapper will be playing. I’ve lost count of how many drinks Jackson has had, so I don’t let go of his hand. 

“Baby…” he says, trailing behind me. I can hear Mark and Lexie laughing good-naturedly, but I just turn back and smile sweetly at him. 

“What’s up?” I ask. 

“Slow down,” he says, words slurring together. “You’re like, running. Your little legs. I don’t know how… they’re going so fast.” 

I roll my eyes and pause so he can catch up with me, though he was just an arm’s length behind. “Better?” 

He puckers his lips out dramatically. “Kiss can make it better,” he says, wrapping one arm tight around my waist and squeezing me closer. I kiss him - his mouth tastes like alcohol - and hold his chin in my fingers. 

“I love you, my sappy drunk,” I say, skimming over his facial hair and hearing a scratchy sound following. 

“I love you, my beautiful baby,” he practically sings, eyes half-lidded with a silly smile on his face. 

“Jesus, you guys,” Lexie says. “Get a room.” 

“Get a  _ life _ ,” Jackson says, then cracks up at himself. “Don’t hate us ‘cause we’re in  _ love _ .” 

I look at Lexie with a comical cringe on my face. “Sorry,” I mouth. 

She shakes her head with a smile. “I only wish Mark were a lovey drunk,” she says. “All he is is a-” 

“Horny,” Mark finishes. “Horny drunk right here.” 

“Hey,” Jackson says, standing to his full height with a finger pointed in the air. He wobbles a bit, so I hold him steady. “I can be a horny drunk, too. Lovey and horny go hand in hand, my friend. When we get home…” He laughs, sounding suggestive, as he blinks slowly. “When we get home, this one right here is  _ not _ safe.” 

“Enough out of you, drunky-pants,” I say, clutching his hand again. “Let’s go see Chance.” 

“That rhymed!” Jackson says gleefully, then spins around to look at our friends. “My girlfriend is the fucking  _ smartest _ person ever, you guys. Not even lying.” 

He wraps his arms around me from behind as I’m trying to walk and presses sloppy kisses on the curve of my neck. 

“Smartest person  _ ever _ ,” he murmurs, lips pressed heavy against my skin. 

“Jackson, okay,” I say, bending an elbow to touch the side of his head. “We have to get moving if we want a good spot.” 

We make it to the lawn for Chance and people are still filing in. We start moving with the crowd as it gets thicker, but people keep bumping us - specifically me - even after we find a place to stand. I frown and crinkle my forehead as a group of rowdy guys blows by, knocking into my shoulders and making me take a stutter-step so I don’t fall over. 

“Hey!” Jackson says, calling after them though they don’t hear him. He secures an arm around me, though he still sways. “Not one single other person better touch my perfect girlfriend unless you want me to murder you with my bare hands!” 

“Slow down, killer,” Mark says, one and on Jackson’s shoulder. “Let’s just go back to the hills where there’s more room.” 

“Yeah,” I say, smiling up at Jackson. “Then no one will touch your perfect girlfriend except for you.” 

We follow Mark’s advice and I keep a tight hold on Jackson’s hand so I won’t lose him in the crowd, and he follows along obediently. We find a good spot with breathing room, and I feel much better. We actually have room to jump around and dance and have a good time. 

When Chance comes on stage, Jackson’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas. He turns to me with his mouth wide open in a gasp and his eyes as big as dinner plates. He takes both of my hands and swings them back and forth, and I giggle uncontrollably as he sings to me. 

“You don’t want no problems, want no problems with me! You don’t want no problems, want no problems with me!” he sings, never breaking eye contact.

I sing along with him, knowing the words just as well as he does because we’ve been listening to Chance nonstop for the entire summer. 

When ‘Blessings’ comes on, Jackson stands behind me and raises my hands into the air. “I’m gon’ praise Him… praise Him ‘til I’m gone. I’m gon’ praise Him, praise Him ‘til I’m gone,” he sings, right into my ear. “When the praises go up!” He lifts my arms straighter. “The blessings come down…” He lowers my arms, and hugs me close with my wrists still in his hands. “April,” he says, and luckily his mouth is right against the shell of my ear, or else I definitely wouldn’t have heard him over the music. 

“What, baby?”

He giggles, lips pressed together. “It seems like blessings… are falling in my lap,” he sings, along with Chance. “That was you,” he slurs. “You’re my blessing.” 

“Jackson,” I say. “You don’t even believe in that stuff.” 

“But you are…” he slurs, hugging me tighter. “You are, you are.” 

“Okay,” I say, reaching behind me to hold the back of his neck. “You’re mine, too.” 

‘Juke Jam’ comes on next, which is one of Jackson’s favorites. I always tease him that he only likes it because Justin Bieber is featured, so I can’t help but smile as he sings along with his parts. 

He raps his favorite lyrics extra passionately. “‘Til I found out all the shorties with cooties was cute, and I realized was booties can do.” As he raps the words, he yanks my hips and presses my ass against his crotch, and we both laugh about it as he drops his lips to my bare shoulder and presses deliberate kisses there, a whole slew of them. “We got so much history, baby, maybe,” he continues, swaying me with his hands heavy on my hips. “Maybe you and I were meant to be, maybe I’m crazy… crazy ‘bout you…” 

His kisses continue, and I smile and lean my head to one side as his lips press higher. I let him touch what parts of me he wants to, getting lost in the way he loves me. 

During a slower song, Jackson still knows all the words. “You… are… very special. You’re special, too. Everyone is special, this I know is true, when I look at you.” 

He turns me around, frames my face with his hands, and I can see his eyes are little bloodshot now. “Baby,” he says, whispering as his lips ghost over mine. 

“Baby,” I echo back. 

“You’re so special,” he says. “I think Chance wrote this song about you.” 

“Yeah?” I say, hands sneaking up his chest. 

“Yeah…” he slurs back, sloppily kissing my mouth. I hold onto the back of his neck and sway with him. 

“Well, I think he wrote it about you,” I say. 

He shakes his head adamantly. “Nah, it’s about you. Sorry… no question.” 

When Chance is singing ‘May I Have This Dance’ with Francis and the Lights, the effects on stage are going crazy and lighting up the whole crowd. I keep a tight hold on Jackson’s hand, seeing as he’s giving out fist-bumps to any and everyone who passes. He tries to wander away a few times during the song as he dances with his arms above his head and his eyes closed, looking so concentrated as he gets into the music. I giggle as I watch him, holding his fingers, then spin him back to me. 

Of course, he still sings to me. “May I have this dance?” he sings, now twirling me out. “Can I say somethin’ crazy? I love you,” he continues, pulling me in. He keeps two hands on the small of my back, and we lean back and forth. “Give me both your hands,” he sings, and holds them as he extends his arms. I throw my head back with a wild grin on my face, letting my body weight fall back because I know he’ll support me. 

For the encore song, Jackson resumes his place standing behind me starts singing again. “I made it through, made it through, made it through… and everything I gave to you, I gave to you, I gave to you…” I smile, unable to keep my face from splitting in two as he holds me close. “Are you ready… for your blessings? Are you ready… for your miracle?”

I start to sing with him, closing my eyes and letting the music and the way his body feels wrapped around mine take me away. I feel like I’m on another planet; I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy. 

When the concert is over, my feet are killing me and I’ve never been in a bigger crowd of people in my life. Michigan Avenue is shut down and I have my shoes in my hand, walking down the middle of the street in just my socks.

Jackson is still in high spirits, though, singing songs from the setlist and spinning around with his arms straight out. 

“My feet are gonna fall off,” I complain, lagging behind the group.

“Come on, April,” Lexie says. “Don’t drag or we’ll lose you.” 

I’m so exhausted it feels like I could fall over at any given second. “I can’t,” I whine. 

“What’s wrong, my baby?” Jackson asks, tripping over his own feet as he comes out of his own little world. 

I plunk down onto the curb. “I’m tired,” I say, one hand to my forehead and feeling sunburn there. “Ouch. I can’t walk anymore.” 

Mark and Lexie sigh with a bit of annoyance, but I can’t help it. I have no energy left. 

Jackson trots over, turning around once he gets to me. “Your trolley has arrived,” he says, laughing. 

“No,” I say. “You’re drunk. We’ll fall over.” 

“Pshhh… have more faith in me,” he says, then wags his fingers. “Hop on up. Piggyback ride time. I’m gonna carry you the rest of the way.” 

I don’t have it within me to fight him. I stand up from the curb with a long breath, then hold onto his shoulders as I climb onto his back. One I’m up, I feel much better and Jackson keeps a firm hold on the backs of my thighs. He zigs and zags through the groups of people that are growing consistently sparser, and smiles at everyone. “My girlfriend’s tired,” he explains. “She’s very little but don’t let her fool you. She’s powerful.” 

“Jackson,” I hiss playfully. “Shush.” 

He laughs at himself and I squeeze his shoulders, then hitch myself up higher on his back as we make our way to the Brown Line. 

The train is so packed that Jackson and I are standing chest-to-chest like sardines, with Mark and Lexie at our sides. They’re quiet and drained, but Jackson still hasn’t started to wind down. 

“Well, hello there,” he says, somehow sneaking his hand up between all the bodies and framing my face. “You’re so gorgeous. What’s your name?” 

“April,” I say, playing along. 

He laughs and kisses me playfully, which makes me giggle into his mouth. “Apricot, you won’t  _ believe _ it… I just met the most adorable girl with your same name,” he says. 

“Oh, really,” I say, standing on my tiptoes to touch the tip of my nose to his. We’re both sweating, but it doesn’t bother me. Even the soreness of my feet has left my head as I’m this close this stupid, lovey, goofy face. 

“Honest and truly,” he says, and dips his head to kiss me again. For a moment, I get lost in the way his lips feel and close my eyes, leaning against him as a ton of other people are packed around us. 

“Guys, for real. Right here? Now?” Lexie snaps, obviously tired. 

We pull away from our kiss with a soft smack and Jackson chuckles, his face still in my bubble. “Don’t be mad…” he says, quoting Chance.

When we get home, I change into my pajamas on collapse on our bed with my arms above my head. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so exhausted and blissed out in my life. 

Jackson comes back from the bathroom and changes, too, and I let out a long breath. 

“My  _ feet _ ,” I groan, flexing them.

“Let me help you out,” he says, words still running together as he stumbles to the bed. He lies on his stomach so my feet are by his face, then starts working the pads of his fingers into them for a massage that feels otherworldly. 

“Oh, god,” I moan, letting my eyes flutter shut. “That feels so good, Jackson.” 

“Mm,” he agrees, then holds one foot to his ear like a phone. “Hold on. Hello?” 

I open my eyes and roll them as he’s nodding and pretending to have a real conversation. When he ‘hangs up,’ he looks at me while trying to keep a smile off his face. 

“Well, who was it?” I ask. 

He picks up where he left off in his massage. “It was April, that cute girl from the train,” he says, then starts giggling uncontrollably. 

I stick my foot out straight to swat him, and he laughs with his forehead pressed to the bottom of my sock-covered toes. When he lifts his face up, his pupils are dilated and before I know it, he’s kissing my instep over the black fabric. 

“You don’t wanna do that,” I say. “They probably smell horrible.” 

He bites that same spot and laughs at himself before crawling up my body and covering it with his own. “If I remember right…” he says, kissing the open skin on my chest that’s covered with glitter that I got from a random girl. “I was promised a shower with you…” 

“You’re trashed,” I say. “Your memory is unreliable.” 

He chuckles and pushes his face into my sweaty neck, angling his hips down over mine. “You’re right…” he says, skimming his hands up my sides. He only lifts a hand away to reach for his phone so he can turn on ‘Juke Jam,’ which was on our original Sex Jams playlist from years ago. 

“It’s only fitting…” he says, peppering kisses along my jaw. “We can’t listen to a sex jam and not have sex…” 

My lips twist into a smirk and I drop my lips to his bare shoulder, tasting his sweat but not caring at all. “I can’t argue with that,” I say. I’m sore and exhausted, but the look in his eyes is too much for me to deny. 

He smiles giddily, pulling at the drawstring of my pajama shorts before slipping a hand inside, over my underwear. “Thank you…” he breathes. “For today.” 

I hold his face in my hands, mouth falling open with a small gasp as he touches me. We’ll spend the rest of the night riding out the feelings that had built up all day, and as he kisses down my body to finish what he started this morning, I say, “I love you, my sappy drunk.” 


	22. Outtake #7 - Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!!! I hope you'll remember the allusion to this Christmas party from the epilogue, when April was looking at the pictures on her vanity. I didn't really have a choice but to make this my holiday one-shot to put us all in the spirit. I hope all of your Christmases/Hanukkahs/Kwanzaas/anything else you celebrate, are as merry and bright as Jackson and April's!

I’m lying on the couch by the Christmas tree, taking a nap wearing one of Jackson’s hoodies, when the front door bangs open. 

“Baby,” Jackson says, out of breath from the six flights of steps leading up to our place. “I’m home.” 

“I’m napping,” I murmur, turning on my side away from him, knowing he’ll come and get me.

I’m not disappointed. Moments after the bags hit the floor, footsteps cross the room, and his hands are on my waist. His freezing hands.

“You’re cold!” I say, flipping over to look at him. “And all snowy!” 

“It’s snowing out,” he says. “Here, wait. Hold on. I won’t get it on you.” 

He takes off his hat, coat, and boots, then comes back. This time, I greet him with open arms and puckered lips. He kisses me, then pulls away with a smile. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says. “Cookie-making tire you out?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “Come here.” 

“Make room,” he says, and I widen my legs so he has room to set a pillow there and lie with his head between them. As we talk, I run my fingers over his scalp in the way he loves. 

“What did you buy?” I ask, eyeing the bags he left by the door. 

“A few decorations for the tree,” he says. “And your outfit for the party later that follows the guidelines you sent.”

“What’d you find?”

“Green skirt, red sweater with snowflakes,” he says. “Black tights.” 

I close my eyes and can’t help but giggle. “Jackson, that doesn’t even come close to matching,” I say. 

“What do you mean?” he says. “They’re Christmas colors. And the snowflakes are cute. The small looked too big, but that’s what you said. So, I didn’t get extra small.”

“Extra smalls are too short,” I murmur, then feel one of his hands on my shin. “And I thought we weren’t getting decorations for tree. She’s beautiful the way she is, and… we don’t have that much extra money, baby…” 

He tips his head up, raising his eyebrows to meet my eyes. “I made it work,” he says. “She needs a little bling. Come on. She’s naked.” 

He flips over on his stomach and crawls up my body as I let him.

“And the only one I want naked around here is you,” he says, then kisses me with a smile still on his lips. 

The kiss deepens, and I firmly hold his head between my hands and open my eyes. “We have to get ready,” I say. 

He sneaks a hand up my torso to palm my breast, thumb swiping over the underside. “You’re no fun,” he murmurs, tipping my chin up with his nose so he can kiss my neck. His lips are slow, tongue warm, as he showers me in affection that apparently built up over the two hours we spent apart.

“And I wanna see what you got for tree,” I say, and shove him gently off. “Come on, show me.” 

He huffs as he sits up. “This is your fault,” he says, eyes darting to his crotch where he’s sporting a very obvious bulge. 

I giggle to myself as he walks over and grabs the bags. First, he shows off the outfit he got me - which is as badly paired as I imagined, but endearing - then, the sweater he got himself. After that, comes a strand of popcorn strung together, one box of lights, a set of five bauble ornaments, and a wooden star. 

“This was the best I could do,” he says, and if I’m not mistaken his voice sounds a little downtrodden.

“Why’re you upset?” I ask, crouching on the floor to open the lights. “This is great. She’s gonna look really good.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re right, we are tight on money, especially around Christmas. And I’m just so not used to that, you know?” He sighs. “I wanna give you the best. My best isn’t popcorn and cheap mirror balls.”

“Maybe not the best ever,” I say, setting the lights down as they’re still tied together. I crawl over to him on my hands and knees and give him a peck on the cheek, which he leans into. “But it’s the best for right now. And what matters is that you have me, and I have you. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

A smile sneaks onto his lips as he makes eye contact. “You really mean that, or is Christmas just making you sappy?” 

“Of course I mean it,” I say, stringing my arms around his shoulders. 

He kisses me on the lips with his hands at the small of my back, trailing lower to pat my butt a couple times. “Okay,” he says. “Then let’s do this thing.” 

Once the tree is almost all the way decorated, the only thing left to put on is the star. 

“Would you do the honors?” he asks, handing it over. 

I nod and hold the small thing in my hands, leaning forward to reach the top of our small tree easily. I situate it on the top branch, then take a step back to admire our work. Jackson’s arm winds around my waist, pulling me close, and I rest my head on his shoulder as we stare at our dimly-lit, scarcely-decorated, little tree. 

It might not be all that fancy, but it’s ours and that’s what matters. 

We get in the shower together, deciding to save time and water, which are both of Jackson’s arguments that I’m fully aware don’t hold up. We’ll end up taking double the amount of time each of our separate showers would take, which wastes both time and water. But even so, I don’t argue. I want to be close to him as much as he wants it with me. I have no reason to fight. 

Once the water is warm enough, I pull back the curtain and get in first. Almost immediately, he follows and pins me against the tile with a grin, one hand pressed to either side of my head. 

“What’re you doing?” I ask, as if I don’t know.

“Kissing my girlfriend,” he says, one hand low on my hip. He opens his mouth against mine and slips his tongue inside, and I close my eyes and melt further against the wall with a small whimper of approval. 

I grip his strong shoulders in my hands, pulling him closer as my thumbs trail up his neck. He tips my head to one side and runs his tongue over the swell of my throat, sucking on the skin gently enough to not leave marks. He nuzzles his nose against the divot of my collarbones, tracing the angle of both with his pointer finger, then curves his spine forward to take my nipple between his lips. 

“Mm, Jackson,” I breathe, running my hands down his back as far as I can reach while he pays attention to my chest. The heat between my legs is insistent and throbbing, so I take his wrist and direct it there.

He chuckles softly and strokes my outer lips with two fingers, slowly and deliberately, before slipping them inside. “You’re wet,” he whispers.

I push his hair back, which creates a spray of water. “So are you,” I reply, which makes him laugh.

Soon, he’s giving me head while on his knees, one of my legs thrown over his shoulder while he holds my hips in place. The water pounds his back and when he looks up at me through his eyelashes, I take a firm fistful of his hair and turn to mush against the wall as I have a powerful, drawn-out orgasm. 

I’m panting when he stands back up and turns me around, placing my hands flat on the tile. 

“Do I need a condom?” he asks.

“No,” I say, arching my back. “I’m on the pill. Remember?” 

It wasn’t that long ago that he came with me to Planned Parenthood for moral support while I figured out what to do about my female health after being kicked off my parents’ insurance. 

“Yeah,” he says. “But do you want me to wear one anyway?” 

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s okay, baby. Thank you, though.” 

“Mm-hmm,” he says, planting a sure kiss between my shoulder blades. He holds my hips tight, then pushes his way inside me, causing my mouth to fall open and my eyes to flutter shut. 

My head falls so my wet hair lies in dripping strands around my face, and Jackson starts thrusting. I love the sounds he makes - the rhythmic, guttural groans as he buries himself inside me and makes my body his. I push back against him as his hands travel to find my breasts, where he holds on and squeezes tighter as the moments pass and he gets closer. 

With a swift motion, he pulls me to stand up straight so my back is flush against his torso. He presses a line of kisses over my shoulders, across the nape of my neck, and tightens his arms across my stomach while still grinding against me. 

As the angle changes slightly, I gasp dramatically and grapple for his hands, digging my nails in once I find them. “Right there,” I whimper. 

“That’s the spot?” he asks, repeating the motion slower and smoother. “Right there, baby?” 

My eyelids sink. “Oh… god, yes. Yes, right there.” 

I turn my head to the side and he kisses me intensely while I come, and he doesn’t take long after to let go himself, hips bucking and jerking against the back of mine. 

We clean ourselves under the water, laughing and talking about what the party will be like as we suds each other up. When I get out, one towel wrapped around my head and the other around my body, he follows and nonchalantly kisses the side of my neck as he stands behind me and grabs his own towel to wrap around his hips. 

“I love you,” he says. 

I turn the radio on - Christmas music is playing. 

“I love you, too,” I say. 

After we get ready for the party, I’m standing in front of the mirror in the hall looking at the outfit Jackson picked for me. The red and green are brash against each other, my hair clashes with the color of the sweater, but there’s not much I can do to fix it at this point. 

“You look awesome,” Jackson says, coming from the bedroom and pulling on the collar of the shirt he’s wearing underneath his green sweater. 

I turn around to face him. “I don’t match,” I say.

“Shush,” he says. “At least you’re not choking. This thing is… Jesus, I can’t get this. Suffocating!” 

“Here,” I say, and stand on tiptoe to pull the collar through the way it’s supposed to go. I smooth each side down and feel his eyes on me; when I’m done, he leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Thanks, babe,” he says.

We take the train to Lexie’s apartment, which is already lit up and buzzing with activity. When we go inside, hand-in-hand, after ringing the doorbell to be let up, we’re met at the door by Mark who’s holding a bundle of mistletoe. 

“Merry Christmas!” he says, then holds it over our heads. “Know what this means?” 

I roll my eyes playfully. “You’re stupid,” I say. 

“You know the rules,” he counters. “Kiss your man.” 

I lean into Jackson and he holds my face, deepening the kiss I had meant to be just a peck. We get whoops and hollers from people scattered throughout the room, and when we break apart, my face is fire-engine red. 

“Now we’re talkin’!” Mark shouts, then holds the mistletoe between himself and me. “Well, hey… would you look at that…” 

Jackson rolls his eyes now. “Get a life,” he says, and they both laugh as we make our way further into the party. 

“Hey guys!” Lexie enthuses, pushing her way through a few people with a short, clear glass in one hand filled with amber-colored liquid. “You made it! Here, let me take your coats.” Once she comes back after putting our coats away, she gives us each a hug. “I’m really glad you’re here. Mark’s been asking for you, Jackson.” 

“You’re highly coveted,” I say, patting his chest. “Go find him. I’ll stay here.” 

He smiles and kisses the side of my hair. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks. 

“No, I don’t-” 

“Oh, look at that! Mistletoe!” 

I look behind us and there Mark stands again, holding the mistletoe above our heads. His face is flushed and he’s laughing boisterously, which tells me he’s gotten a head start on the alcohol. 

“Kiss ‘er, Avery!” 

Jackson’s lips pucker in a smile he tries to fight as he holds the back of my head and kisses me. “There,” he says to Mark. “Happy?” 

“Extremely,” Mark says. “Follow me. Let me show you the most decked-out booze table you’ve ever seen.” 

Jackson squeezes my wrist as a goodbye, and I’m left standing across from Lexie as she sips her drink and shakes her head. “Mark’s been looking forward to you guys being here all day,” she says. “It was cute.” 

“I’m glad he and Jackson get along,” I say. “Maybe they’re the match made in heaven here.” 

Lexie laughs, leaning forward and capping one hand over my shoulder. After she straightens up, her eyes travel down my body and take in my outfit. 

“You’re very festive,” she says, holding back her giggles.

I pluck at the fabric of the sweater and give a lighthearted sigh. “Jackson picked it out.” 

“Is he color blind?” she asks. 

“I seriously think we need to make a trip to the eye doctor,” I say, laughing. “I know it’s awful. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by not wearing it, he tried. And he said I looked cute.” 

“Of course you look cute,” Lexie says. “God, you guys are adorable. Is he always so sweet?” 

“He’s good to me,” I say. “And I’m good to him. I don’t know, that’s just how we work.” 

A little bit later, as Lexie and I sit on the couch, Mark and Jackson saunter up to us. Jackson has a drink in hand that he gives to me, with a loopy smile on his face. 

“Here you go, baby doll,” he says, and I notice his words slurring right away. 

“Are you a little drunk?” I ask him, smiling as I take the drink. 

“Hmm… little, lots, I’m not drunk, punk,” he says, then giggles. Jackson only giggles when he’s full of alcohol, and I find it adorable. 

“Who you callin’ punk?” I ask, and he bursts out in louder laughter. 

“Mistletoe!” Mark cheers, and holds it above our heads while chanting: “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her!” 

With a plop, Jackson deposits his body on my lap. I make an ‘oof’ sound and Lexie takes my drink just in time so it doesn’t spill, then I wrap my arms around my boyfriend so he doesn’t flop to the ground. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I squeal, as he adjusts. 

“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” 

Jackson plants a big one one my lips, and his mouth tastes like brandy and scotch. I trail my fingers down his cheek as he pulls away, saying, “My lovey drunk has come out to play.” 

“Mmm…” he says, leaning forward and burying his face in my neck. I wrap my arms around his waist and lean my cheek against him, laughing as he does. “I’ve been a good boy this year, Santa. For Christmas, I want a… I want a… Mercedes Benz.” 

“Santa says, keep dreaming,” I say. 

“Aw,” he says. “Okay, fine. Then… all I want for Christmas is to cop a feel.” 

I press my lips together and try to keep my blush at bay as I roll my eyes towards the ceiling. Mark and Lexie laugh as Jackson’s hand sneaks up my torso, but I bat it away before it can get to my chest. 

“All you’re getting is coal,” I say, and shove him playfully off my lap.

He stumbles to his feet, the flush of alcohol painting his face now, too. “At least I know what I’m getting you…” he half sings, half slurs.

“What’s that?” I ask, eyebrows up.

He leans forward, one finger to his lips. “Shhh…” he says. “We’re in mixed company.” 

“Jackson!” I say, and kick his thigh with my tights-covered foot. “Go away, you two.”

Mark and Jackson stumble away, still laughing, and I turn back to Lexie with a smirk on my face. 

A while later, after everyone who’s supposed to come to the party has arrived, I’m standing in front of the Christmas tree admiring the lights. It’s a bit more done up than mine and Jackson’s, more like what I was used to at home. I can see myself in the reflection of a blue bulb, and when I get closer, the fisheye makes my head disproportionately large. I chuckle at the image and turn around as I hear the sound of very drunk, male giggling in the next room over. 

Investigating, I set my ginger ale down and walk to the source of the sound, which happens to be the den. What I find there is Mark and Jackson laughing their asses off as they try to fit Jackson inside a TV box that is obviously much too small for him. 

“Carry on!” Mark says, waving me along. “Nothing to see here, carry on!”

“Carry on my wayward son…” Jackson sings, eyes closed with feeling. 

Deciding to stay out of whatever trouble they’re stirring up, I make my way back to where I was standing. I catch up with Arizona, who I haven’t seen in a while, and find out that she’s doing well at the University of Michigan. She tells me she’s dating a girl, and I pretend to be surprised. I can tell she’s happy, which is something she’s always deserved. 

As the night pushes on, I start to get tired and know it would be smart to get going soon. Lexie offered Jackson and me their couch, but I promise her we can get home fine if we leave at a reasonable time. I want to be in our little apartment, with our cute tree, just the two of us. 

“Do you know where Jackson is?” I ask Lexie, a gingerbread cookie in my hand. 

She shakes her head. I bite off the gingerbread man’s arm. 

“Last time I saw him, he was with Mark in the den.” 

“Yeah, he was trying to stuff my drunk boyfriend into a TV box,” I say, snorting.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay getting him home?” Lexie asks. “He’s a big goof. I don’t want him to give you trouble on the way.”

I wave her off. “He’s my big goof. I know how to handle him. He’ll wanna make out with me on the train, that’s all. He’s harmless. Worst he’ll do is strip off all his winter gear once we get to our sidewalk and claim he’s not cold.” 

Lexie laughs because she knows I’m right. 

“Mark?” she calls out, watching me grab my coat. “Come out. Jackson and April need to leave.” 

“Come in here!” we hear, and then look at each other.

“Where?” she asks. 

“Den!” 

We shoot each other another confused look, but follow the voice. When we get to the den, Mark is standing in the entryway looking very smug and proud of himself. 

“What are you doing?” Lexie asks. 

“I just wanna give April her present,” he says.

For a moment, I believe him. “What do you mean?” I ask. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t get you anything. I feel horrible now.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I didn’t spend a dime.” 

“What are you talking about?” I ask, peering around his shoulder. Mark steps to the side and I cover my mouth as I see what the two of them have done. There’s a package exactly Jackson’s height standing up, hastily wrapped with wrapping paper, a big bow stuck to the top. Where its shoulders should be are trembling with laughter, and I decide to play along. 

“Wow, I wonder what it could be…” I ask, stepping closer. “I wish Jackson were here to see this. This present really reminds me of him. Like how he’s ticklish right… here…”

I jam my fingers into his waist, and he tries to squirm away but the paper keeps him standing here he is. 

“Or here…” I say, getting at his neck. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” he says, barely lasting long at all. He pushes the paper away from his face and smiles at me, eyes sparkling. 

I beam up at him. “My favorite gift,” I say, and as I wrap my arms around his waist the paper crinkles. “Mark,” I say, tossing the words over my shoulder. “Mistletoe, please.”

He fulfills his purpose for the last time tonight and holds it over our heads, and I give Jackson a big kiss while holding his cheeks in my hands. When I pull away, he rests his forehead against mine and says, “Merry Christmas, baby.”


End file.
